


SING! A How-to Guide

by tessentially



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Ace Agatha Wellbelove, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Aro Agatha Wellbelove, Crack, Fluff, M/M, SING! which is apparently only a thing in New York, School Play, a play.... about vampires!, also oh yeah!, baz is a snarky pining baby, but not like a total joke, just added that tag after realizing it turned out more angsty than originally planned haha, just kind of goofy, let's pretend that's not the case, like a non magic high school, okay but get this....., student made production, that also happens to be a public school, theater teacher ebb, those should be accepted headcanons by now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6245020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessentially/pseuds/tessentially
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the annual student-run SING! production at Watford High School, and it's Simon's senior year. Which means it's both his grade's last and first chance to win the annual student-run SING! production. But Simon has no complaints. He knows that this year's play is going to rock. The only problem is his co-star and arch-nemesis, Baz Pitch. Who is probably evil. And impossible to work with. He might even be a vampire, if vampires existed. In a competition to come out as the ultimate winners of SING!, is it possible to stay enemies? Or rather, is it possible to be just friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step 1: Pick a Cheesy Setting

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the prologue, you could call it. I promise chapters will get longer as the story picks up. Hope you guys like it! Updates should come every weekend, and if not then more frequently.

_Baz_

It's no secret that the annual SING! production is going to be horrid. I mean, it's a play that's written by, directed by, scored by, and that stars students. Which is already a spell for bad, bad things.

But honestly, you'd think it could be better. You'd hope. It's just not going to happen.

It's like there's a formula. Ingredients that, every year, make the same awful concoction with little variation. But you still go, and cheer “SFV! SFV!” or whoever the fuck you want to win. If you're me, you star in it too. (Because Snow'll be there, and you'll cross every line for him). And every year, you want to throw yourself down the stairs.

You just would hope that it'd get _better._

 

_Simon_

The first step to writing a SING! production is picking a place to set it.

Last year, it was Ancient Egypt. Greece for the Sophomore-Seniors. The year before, we did Mars. I think Atlantis was a thing once too.

I love it. I love being part of it. To create something with all your friends, to act in something where you don't have to worry that you're no good with the words, because quality isn't the _point._ With SING! . . . it's impossible to capture the point.

Penny say's it's an abomination. I say it's wonderful. She can't be right about everything. She needs to get a sense of school spirit.

Even _Baz_ does SING. And he's practically evil- with his piercing gray eyes, and sharp features, twisted in a permanent snarl. Freshman year, when we were both in the ensemble (as wizards, with pointed hats) he pushed me off the stage.

My point is, nemeses put up with each other for SING. Even Agatha, my girlfriend, does stage crew. That's how wonderful it is. It makes you want to live for it. To be a part of it.

This is my senior year, and we're paired with Freshman, so it's entirely our show.

We're setting it in Gothic times, in a mansion. Honestly, it's a stroke of genius. Our best idea yet.

 

_Baz_

I mean, seriously. Vampires?

 


	2. Step 2: Write a Horrible Plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied! It's been a crazy few weeks, and I haven't been able to update. But! I've written two chapters ahead. So, as compensation, I promise another update before next weekend's update. Anyways, hope you guys like it. Feedback is much appreciated!

_Baz_

So far, all I know for sure is that the ensemble is going to be split. Half villagers, half evil vampire clan. And that each will have a big leader.

We haven't cast anything yet, but it's obvious that the village leader is made for Snow. Heroic. Hotheaded. Determined. So, I guess I'm a vampire.

“To be fair, Baz, you do kind of look like a vampire,” Agatha says.

“What does that mean? What does a vampire even look like?”

“Like you,” she replies, laughing. I catch Snow's eyes from across the circle, made of all the desks pulled together in Ebb's classroom. There's a trace of a grin on his mouth, which makes me weak.

It pisses me off that he makes me weak.

 

_Simon_

Baz is glaring at me again. What's his damage? We were just teasing him.

Plus, he _totally_ looks like a vampire. With his widow's peak hairline, and his washed out skin (not necessarily pale but rather. . . cold. I doubt Baz has ever blushed in his life)

Which kind of makes me blush, to think of Baz blushing. Which is another weird thought, so I shake myself out of it. Pull back into reality. Which is this conversation, about what our play will be about. Our last SING. And our last chance to win.

“Someone the two groups will join together against,” Trixie is saying.

“He should be a wizard! And he could live in a big mansion. Or some sort of estate.”

“How do we know that this mage is a he? He could be a she too! Why we putting all these male characters in power?” Agatha protests.

“We do need a part for Phillipa Stainton. Those pipes she has on her.”

“I don't know that Phillipa wants to be a crazy old magician for her senior year.”

“Nonsense! This is great, and of course she will.”

I must have missed something important. I speak up: “So the villagers and vampires aren't staying enemies?”

“Yeah,” Trixie says, who is always a writer for SING. I think this year she's in charge. She's a shrew of a girl, her nose a pointed button on her face, and her eyes unnaturally high and big. She gives me a look like, well, duh, Simon. I get these kind of looks a lot.

“Where else would the story be?”

“It's like West Side Story!” says Garrth. Fucking Gareth.

“Who exactly are the star crossed lovers, then?” asks Agatha.

“Who's getting shot?”

I guess Trixie has a point, about there being no story without this truce. That doesn't mean I'll like being Baz's ally, even if it's in a play. I'm not that good of an actor.

“Maybe someone _should_ get shot.”

I look up, and catch Baz's eyes again. And the bastard smiles! “I nominate Snow,” he says.

“Very funny. Not what we're going for, though,” says Trixie.

His eyes don't leave mine right away, and for the second time today, I find myself blushing about Baz. Which is totally weird.

The rest of rehearsal, I just zone out. I've never been a big part in the writing aspect of SING. Plus, if I have to look at Baz one more time, I just might go off.

I just might.

 


	3. Step 3: Use the Top Charting Pop Songs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update this weekend! Chapters are getting longer, as you'll see in this one. Also, this chapter was totally me gratuitously writing my headcanons about Simon's, Baz's, and Penny's music tastes. Next chapter is when the plot starts to happen. Less exposition and more action. Also, by the way, my tumblr is beeskneeses, in case you want to follow/read on there. p.s. i'd love your feedback! literally, I survive off of it.
> 
> Edit 4/12/18: Wow can you tell this fic was started in 2016 from the old music choices? I'm going back right now to look at some of the first chapters and make small edits and. . . Wow lol

_Baz_

I'm sitting in my room, books sprawled out and headphones flattening my hair when it hits me.

I've never played Simon's friend in a play. I've never played anything but his enemy. And although I realize that real life people don't have arch-nemeses, in another world Simon would be mine. SING! has given me enough of a stage to understand that.

Sophomore year, when we first got lead roles, he was the king of the alien colony. I was the pilot of the spaceship that we at first had you rooting for. But in the end, of course I was Snow's enemy.

I was the bad guy.

I remember Snow's line. I remember him spitting it in my face, in front of half of the school all crammed into the auditorium.

I was wearing a spacesuit of tin foil, standing on red mars rock (cardboard), and holding a Nerf gun in my hands. A laser gun. I had two inches on him, and felt powerful, if ridiculous.

When he said his line, it's not like I wasn't expecting the words. Those were scripted, and we'd rehearsed them countless times over. What I wasn't expecting was how much he meant it.

Snow, he's. He's not a great actor. He's not good at pushing emotion into his lines, the way I am. You need to have emotional intelligence to act, which I definitely see in Snow. In his face, sometimes. But it's the words that he struggles with. Always words, and getting them out in the right order. You'd think he'd appreciate a script always telling him what to say.

He's definitely better off on stage than he is when he's talking for himself. But even then, I think he has trouble remembering. He has to recite his lines over and over, and listen to recordings of rehearsals on the way to school, and always ends up off book the very last. I don't know that I'll ever understand that about him.

It caught me off guard when he looked up into my eyes (he managed to make me feel like he was towering over me), and said “You ruin everything you touch. You take everything that's not yours. Why do you do this to us?”

_Why do you do this to me?_

Later that night, he accused me of trying to steal his girlfriend. Hilarious, really, and horribly ironic.

Last year, it was the same deal. I don't remember it exactly, but I remember dying, and some dramatic weighing of my heart. Guess who got to die two times in one play.

I don't know what will happen this play. I don't know what it will be like, him acting like he doesn't hate me.

For me, I worry I won't be acting at all. I worry it will hurt to only get to be his friend in fiction. In horrible, student-written fiction. It must be the world spitting on my face.

When the song FOOLS comes on, I skip it. Immediately.

I don't normally listen to much pop music. I much prefer classical, or indie. (If that sounds pretentious, it is. I'm a snob about my taste in music, but rightfully so. It's just _so_ much better than everyone else's.)

But for SING, we need to be thinking of possible songs to adapt. To rewrite the lyrics to fit our horrible plot, and then throw it at the band, for them to write a probably horrible arrangement for.

I turn on I'm Lying to You Cause I'm Lost. The Paper Kites. That's more like it.

 _Watch me, Snow,_ I think. _Watch me make myself hate you. Watch me put on a good act._

 

_Simon_

We've summoned a blackboard to list song titles on.

“So, we have hotline bling, what do you mean, same old love, we're all in this together. . .”

A high school musical song is really mandatory. But hotline bling?

“Can we try to find something that JSV won't also probably be doing?” Agatha asks.

“We could, but then it wouldn't really be SING!” Baz grumbles. I wish I didn't agree with him.

The truth is, I think SING! would be awesome if we used better music. Not like everyone agrees with my opinion of good music. Honestly, I'm not sure even _I_ agree with my opinion of good music. My library is “fluffy,” as Penny likes to say. “Vanilla,” too.

Her taste in music is wicked. Lots of political rock, and female rappers. (One like C.I.A., or something? I like her.) And some indie music I've never even heard of. If it were up to me, I'd put her in charge of SING! band.

I need to make sure I hang out with her this fall. It's easy to get too obsessed with SING. I don't want to let it completely consume me.

When I start paying attention again, Hotline Bling is crossed off. We're All in This Together is _circled._ And Control is added.

“Control?”

“Yes Simon, we did just talk about this,” says Trixie. I give Agatha a look I know is pitiful.

“It's for the Mage to sing,” she clarifies, kindly. “Phillipa needs a song. I mean, not-technically-but-probably-Phillipa.” Makes sense.

Then Trixie pipes up again: “Simon and Baz should sing a duet!”

“That's a good idea!”

“We'll have to brainstorm. . .”

I think the room is frozen. Or I am, and everyone is moving around me. Nodding and smiling.

“I mean! Not-technically-Simon-and-Baz.”

“Auditions are in two days, guys. Can you believe it? I'm not sure we're ready yet. . .”

And they continue like this. Like this isn't the worst possible idea.

 

 


	4. Step 4: Cast It

_Baz_

When Trixie suggested it, Snow looked downright scary. Like if he were a star, he'd fucking supernova.

I was also about to supernova, but for entirely different reasons.

It's kind of pathetic, isn't it? That the closest I'll get to him is going to be a non-romantic duet in a horrible school play.

And judging from the _song_ they picked. . .

I listened to it. And I guess it's meant to be a joke. A “haha, we're going to make our male leads sing a romantic song, and even though the words will be different, the connotation will still be there,” sort of joke. Honestly, I expected better from Trixie.

But I'll still sing the duet with Snow. I'll take it. Whatever I can get, I'll take it, and this is miraculously, sadly, better than anything I've ever dreamed.

 

_Simon_

“Come to the audition with me,”

“Simon,” Penny chides. I furrow my eyebrows, pout my lips. Look at the floor pathetically.

“Merlin and Morgana, you're lucky you're cute.”

“I know,” I say, grinning.

“You're making me sit through a _SING!_ audition. It's going to be horrible!”

“I know,” I say, and we both laugh. “I'm grateful, though. I'm just really. I'm.” I don't know.

“Use your words, Simon,” She says, in the way that she always does. I suck in a slow breath.

“Nervous.”

“Don't be. This role was written for you. Like, actually.”

I know that. I know. And I know that it's SING!, and it's my favorite part of the year, and I _love_ this. Every moment of it.

But this year, I'm thrown out of my element. I'm singing with Baz. (Yes, I know they're changing the lyrics. No, I'm not going to be okay for this.)

This is supposed to be the year we finally win. I'm making too big of a deal of this. I feel a little hysterical.

He is infuriating.

I don't know how to say any of this, so instead I say, “They're making me audition with Baz.”

Penny looks at me a little softer.

“Oh, Simon. He's just a boy.”

 

* * *

 

We get to the auditorium, and Penny sits in the first chair in the very back. I drag her by her wrist to the front.

We all sit down. I don't see Agatha anywhere, and I guess that she's backstage. This is the first time we're in here instead of Ebb's room, and I'm assuming she's excited. I kind of am.

“I'm kind of excited,” I tell Penny. She rolls her eyes, but I can see the smile beneath her features. That's one of the things I love about our friendship. As much as she may encourage me to use my words, we have a way of communicating without them too. It's much more relaxing than hanging out with Agatha, when she can't read me, and I can't say what I want to. It's why we're always misunderstanding each other.

In front of the very front row is a long table. Trixie, Gareth, and this kid whose name I don't know (he's in the band) are sitting there, with sign-up sheets.

Trixie and Gareth are auditioning anyone who wants an actual role. Ebb will also be watching, to make sure the casting is fair, but that's more of a formality. Agatha's also got a sheet up there for stage crew sign up. And the band kid (I really can't believe I don't know his name. Penny says I know everyone) will take everyone up to the band room once he gets a list of names. SING! band isn't the most selective.

Penny rests her head on my shoulder. “Last SING! audition, huh.”

“Yeah,” I say.

Trixie stands, microphone in hand. “Okay, guys, so we're gonna get started. Ensemble member auditions first, okay? So this is if you're sure you don't want a speaking role. Come up to the front.” The auditorium shifts into silence.

Penny whispers, “I can't believe that you're basically friends with her. She gets fucking glitter all over my desk in English. Who puts glitter in their hair?” I nudge Penny to be quiet, and smile. Trixie does, and even though she's a little odd, I think she's a nice enough person.

Baz walks in, and I pretend not to notice him. That's a lie. I stare at him across the room. He glares back. Penny nudges me, and I pull my eyes away.

Instead, I burn holes into the ceiling. (I still feel the pricking of his eyes.)

Time moves slow, until the lead auditions are approaching. Then it's dragging me along behind, racing ahead.

“Male leads now? Simon, Baz, get your asses up here.”

“Trixie,” Ebb says from her middle-of-the-auditorium seat. She always tells me how she likes it there, because from there she can absorb everything around her. The experience is panning out on all sides.

And it's quieter, when all the students are in the front.

“Oh, right,” Trixie says. “Any other boys who want to audition, come up too.” No one does.

I stand on lead legs, and walk to the front of the stage.

“This is a scene from the beginning we want you to try. You guys can do the singing part of your auditions separately, after.” Trixie hands Baz and I each a sheet of paper, with lines highlighted in blue.

I step up on stage and look at Baz. Look at the page. Look back at Baz.

“I know what you are!”

“What am I then?” he sneers back. He's good, even reading a scene for the first time.

“I- I'll get the other villagers! We'll show up at your door with pitchforks and torches. Light you like matches.”

“Say it.”

“You're a monster!” I try to push brute courage into my voice, fear underneath. I'm not quite as good with the magic.

“And you're a pest! You and your friends always buzzing at our ears. And for what?” He takes a step toward me. There's a line in the script, said by one of the villagers, “That hairline!”, that Trixie shouts from below.

“Get away, ungodly creature!”

“What _am_ I?” I feel irrational. He's so close, and in my face. It feels real, as if he's the superior vampire, goading me. And I'm the not-so-smart medieval villager, letting my words come out shaky.

“The devil is in your soul!” Another step closer, and his toes are touching mine.

I look into those gray eyes, lift my head. This is scary. He hisses at me:

“ _Say it._ ”

“VAMPIRE!” I shout, stumbling back. I feel sick.

Then, the magic is sucked away, in the rounding of Baz's shoulders. In my hand, which drops the scrip to my side, lets it hang. In the change in Baz's face, from prick-ish, sneering vampire to cool, unaffected.

The small audience applauds, and Baz drifts off the stage. I suppose I do too.

In the play, this scene is followed by a huge ensemble song. Everything is supposed to break into chaos. With how I feel, right now, I don't need it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are liking this! Next chapter should be up next weekend. Also, although I have a song picked for Simon and Baz's duet (you'll find out in time), if you can rec me a song that's a better choice, I might use it instead!


	5. Step 5: Insert an Unnecessary Romantic Subplot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha is sick and tired of everything having to do with romance; Baz throws Simon a crumb in terms of being civil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with this fic lmao, and this time I have the entire thing written! Just need to edit as I post, so updates will finally be regular yayyy! Not sure exactly what days and how frequently, but probbbably twice, and at least once a week.

_Baz_

The results are posted by the end of the week, and the only thing surprising is that they’ve finally found a name for my character. (I went by “Alpha Vamp” in the audition script.)

Cedric. Like, from Harry Potter, I guess? I don’t know what Trixie’s rational is. I don’t really care. It’s just. I mean, I was expecting to be Edward, if any of Robert Pattinson’s roles. Or some diminutive of Dracula. It’s just not very vampiric to me.

But, then again, I’m apparently not well-versed in what is and isn’t vampiric if, according to Trixie, I myself am. (I’m too Egyptian to be a vampire.) (And I don’t appreciate them all calling my skin “kind of greyish!”, or my hairline offensive.) (My hair’s fucking great.)

Simon’s character’s name is Arthur, which I guess is fitting. And then there are the mandatory side characters. Trixie’s girlfriend is going to play a vampire named Elvira. Gareth is the comic relief character, pretty undemocratic considering he auditioned everyone else. And Rhys plays another villager who shouldn’t have any lines. 

At the bottom of the page, it says “MON-WED FINAL WRITERS MEETING- LEADS WELCOME. TABLE READING FRIDAY- ALL SPEAKING ROLES”

“Baz,” I hear a voice behind me. Simon’s. 

“Snow,” I reply coolly, keeping my eyes fixed on the poster. “Big surprise, you got the part-” 

“I know I did.” 

“Conceited much?” I spin to face him, grinning. I like to get him frustrated, to make him stutter, and get to see him blush. How gay and pathetic of me, I know. 

“Trixie told me! Plus only we auditioned,” he grumbles. 

“Then you shouldn’t need to he here. Run along, Snow.” 

“I thought you might be here.” Oh. 

“Why?” 

“Baz, if we’re co-stars, we’ve gotta get over this _thing_ and talk to each other. I wanted to say congrats. And also tell you to come to Monday’s meeting. Trixie wants us all there, really. 

“Fuck off, Snow.” I know where I’ll be on Monday. 

 

________________________________________

 

 

I get there ten minutes late, which isn’t like me, but it’s SING! for Christ’s sake. What could I miss.

When I walk in, our idea board has a long agenda of all the things we have to get done in the next three days: 

  1. Romantic Subplot
  2. More Jokes?
  3. Write the Mage Monologue
  4. Type up Scenery Descriptions
  5. Budget Review
  6. Cut the Tension Somehow (Scene 4)
  7. Final Edits and Print!



When I walk in, the board has this sweet little list, each desk has script pages and loose leaf paper, Simon is right where he should be in the back, looking lost. And Agatha’s face is twisted up red, looking like she’s about to cry in front of the little green board. 

“I just don’t see why we have to add it! Our play is perfect the way it is!” 

“Please, Agatha, our play is a mess,” Trixie says. 

“This won’t solve it!” She raises her voice. 

“It’ll get us more points,” says Gareth. He’s eating a bag of sunflower seeds, and looking like a douche. 

“Hi Baz,” sighs Trixie. “Why don’t you sit down.” She turns to Agatha. “Why don’t we all sit down.” 

“Simon, don’t you agree with me?” Her voice is rising exponentially in pitch, like the Bee Movie in seven minutes. 

“I. . . um. I don’t think there’s anything so bad about it.” She shoots daggers at him, and I feel bad for Snow. He’s like a deer in the headlights, no clue what to say to make her happy _and_ tell the truth. And make everyone else happy, because that’s how fucking heroic he is. 

“Why does everything always have to be about romance,” she says, and her voice breaks on romance. And it’s like that was the dam holding her together. “Always, and if you don’t feel the same way, you feel so fucking alone. Why do you have to _remind_ me of that! Why can’t we just, just.” 

Simon springs up, and grabs Agatha’s hands. “Babe, no one knows what you’re talking about. Just tell me what’s wrong-” 

“Right now, you,” she snaps, snatching her hands aways. 

“What did I do? I’m sorry I disagreed Agatha, I just. I don’t see what’s wrong with a romance! It’s SING!” 

“Exactly, you don’t have any clue.” 

“What is it?” The look on his face breaks my heart. I’m also bitterly glad. 

“I can’t do it anymore! I can’t. . . Simon, we’re done,” she says quietly, as if everyone won’t hear it that way. Damn. 

She leaves the room, wiping her face. I expect Snow to go after her, but apparently he’s not as dull as I thought. He just sits back down, and who thought it would be Agatha Wellbelove to defeat Simon Snow. 

“So. . .” Trixie says. “Let’s just go on to the next item on our list! We were wondering if anyone has any ideas for jokes we can add at this point. I was reading it and I was like, is it too dry? You know? For a SING! play? So if anyone has any suggestions speak now. No one? No?” 

I know I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop with those two. It was obvious that she wasn’t into Snow in the way she always seemed distant around him. Like playing a role. 

“We could insert like. . . some kind of running gag. Like dress an extra up like a hot sparkling Twilight vampire instead of the whole Victorian look?” Someone says, but trails off, leaving us in a tense silence still. 

I don’t know why I pay so much attention to those two and their fucking drama. I feel empathetic for Agatha, I guess, because we’re both obsessed with Snow in different ways. (Her in an idealized dream boy kind of way and me in a morbid creepy stalker one.) And I can still see the funny look of shock on his face and hear the gears turning in his head behind me.

“Snow, you okay?” I say, and only realize I’m saying it halfway through, when I’ve already committed. 

“Like you fucking care,” he snaps back, and alright, fair. 

“Boys,” Trixie scolds. “This is a writers’ meeting. We don’t invite the actors so they can bitch. And sorry Simon, but really. You don’t have to stay. Now, jokes?” 

Gareth raises his hand as if he’s been possessed by the magical idea spirit, then hops up from his seat. He claps loudly. “You see, I was thinking, there can be like, a rap battle between two of the extras at the beginning of the riot scene, right? It’s genius!” 

“Both these ideas are pretty good-” 

I twist around in my seat to where Simon is. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I was trying out the whole. . . being civil, thing. I’m an asshole, I know, and maybe right after your girlfriend. . . not the best time. But I wasn’t trying to be mean, Snow. As fun as that is.” 

I want to kill myself, but Snow smiles slightly. (Which is surprising because his girlfriend _did_ just break up with him.) “Okay,” he says. 

He look sad in a soft, distant way, and I can’t help thinking how good he is as I turn back around, and how bad I am. I try to stop, and instead just listen as the rest of the writer’s meeting passes by without me.


	6. Step 6: Throw Yourself at Rehearsals

_ Simon _

SING! rehearsals just aren’t the same without Agatha. Not like she isn’t there, because she’s still stage manager and all. But I don’t know. Here’s my list of things I’m trying not to think about:

  1. In all the past SING!s she would watch me fool around during rehearsals and shake her head smiling and help me memorize my lines because she knows I have trouble and she gets it. She was so patient.
  2. That I have a gut feeling we’re not going to win this.
  3. That I’ve been so into SING! I’ve barely talked to Penny in weeks.
  4. And my grades right now are awful. I just failed two tests, because SING! is ruining my life, like it always does.
  5. And Baz. That’s all I’ll say.
  6. I mean, he keeps being nice to me and saying these things that make him seem half human! But then he turns around and is an asshole again. 
  7. Sometimes I wish we really _could_ be nice to each other. Before I remember I hate him, of course.
  8. How even though I miss talking to Agatha, and hanging out, and her being my second best friend, I don’t miss kissing her.



Ebb’s classroom is getting cold now that it’s November, and we’re mostly rehearsing dialogue and blocking in here. Right now, Baz is buried in a big, black turtleneck, and I’m wearing this soft, taupe sweater (from Penny).

“So,” I’m pacing back and forth, everyone staring at me expectantly. “What are our terms?”

“The terms of our truce?” Baz chuckles.

“Yes.”

“How about,” his mouth pulls into a smirk, and I can just imagine the fangs, “you don’t kill us, and we won’t kill you?”

“We need to get along better than that!”

“Do we?” It’s Trixie’s girlfriend, and the line comes out as sharp laughter.

“Come on, this is important. If we’re going to, I mean, If the Mage- sorry.” I have to look down at my script. “If we’re going to defeat the Mage before the full moon, before she’ll have  _ unlimited  _ power above us all, and it’ll be too late for action, we can’t just not kill each other.” 

I address the audience of empty chairs fiercely. “We have to use our strengths together!”

“We’re vampires. Last week, according to you guys, our only strength was being evil. Now you want to make a truce?” Baz scoffs. “If you didn’t  _ need _ us you’d still be trying to burn us all alive.”

A beat of silence, and I shiver. It’s so cold, and Baz’s intensity is just as chilling.

 

_________________________________________________

 

“Okay!” Trixie claps her hands together. “Time to go home.”

“Finally,” I say, and start packing my things up. I put on my scarf, glancing at Baz. “You were, erm, good.” This is weird.

“Thanks. You’re still not off book.”

“I- I’ll be off book soon! I-”

“ _ Snow _ .” When I make eye contact with him, he cracks a smile. “It’s a joke.”

“I knew that!” I’m still not used to this. Last year, Baz wouldn’t even talk to me! He always acted like I was causing him great harm just by being in the same room as him, or breathing. It’s surreal. Now, he’s joking with me.

“Of  _ course _ .” It seems almost like flirting, I think, then shake the thought.

It’s replaced with the thought that his smile is actually nice, louder and bolder than you’d expect.

“You can’t blame me for the fact that you were always so-” I can’t speak. “I didn’t know if you  _ could _ joke. Or smile. Or help yourself from being so  _ tragic  _ and  _ dramatic. _ ”

“Don’t get too comfortable, Snow. We’re still arch-nemesis.

“Of course we are.”

“I’m not joking.” He’s cold again, all of a sudden, turned away. I wonder what I did. Bastard.

“Well, neither am I!” 

“Good, then we can stop talking to each other for this God forsaken play and go the fuck home.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder and walks toward the door.

“Don’t be a jerk, Baz.”

“Don’t take it so personally.” He won’t look me in the eyes. It bothers me that he runs a hand through his stupid hair. That he stands up so tall. Who does he think he is, having that kind of posture?

“Stop doing that!” He gives me a glance full of disdain and patronization.

“Doing what?”

“You think you’re so much better than all of us? Well- well you’re not! You’re just bitter because no one likes you, so you make yourself even more unlikeable!”

“At least I’m not pretending to be besties with everyone in the fucking school.”

“You’re really a jerk, Baz! Get over yourself.” He doesn’t say anything. “I thought we were trying to work together,” I sigh. I’m done. 

“You’re the one who just blew up. I’m trying to avoid your. . . hysterics.”

“Well I’m just- I’m just trying to avoid  _ jerks _ who push people off  _ stages! _ ”

“Boys,” Trixie says, a reminder that not everyone’s gone yet. Oops.

“I’m leaving,” says Baz.

“Actually—” she walks over, making the conversation a private one— “I have a favor to ask of you two.”

“We’ll try harder to get along.” I say, feeling kind of pathetic. (This truce lasted, like, two days.) I think we both feel kind of pathetic, because Baz sighs, and it sounds like the decompressing kind of sigh. Not his usual  _ I’m an asshole  _ sigh.

“Haha, that’s cute,” she says. “But I was gonna ask if you guys could pick up some stuff we need. Props, paint, you know. I have a list.”

“That sounds like Agatha’s job,” Baz says.

“It’s actually  _ Greg’s _ . But we’re starting set design next week, and he’s got an away meet over the weekend. And Agatha said she’s also busy, and all the underclassmen have this test Monday they’re freaking about, and God know Gareth can’t do it. He’d buy everyone matching belts, or some shit.”

“Why can’t you?” I ask.

“I’m um, also busy.” Baz raises his eyebrows, seeking elaboration. “It’s Keris and my anniversary. . .” she trails off, going pink.

“Okay, I guess we’ll do it.” Baz shoots me daggers. “What?”

“Why must we both go?” he asks Trixie.

“Because boys are incompetent! One isn’t enough to complete such simple tasks—Plus, there are some costume things I want you guys buying in bulk so that everyone kinda matches? Like vampire fangs, and stuff. You guys are the leads, it’ll be nice to help choose our aesthetic!”

“I’m sure Snow will have so much fun with that. I'm leaving.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Hey! Okay, it also has to do with what Simon said. You guys are acting like assholes half our rehearsals. So I’m enforcing a field trip, congrats guys, you’re officially fucking children!”

“It has to be this weekend?”

“Yeah. Just suck it up.”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.”

“Thanks guys!” She hands us our list and an envelope, then goes back inside the room.

Baz sighs. “Okay, so when are we going to do this?”

“We could do it tomorrow.”

“I’m free after four.”

“Shit, that’s not enough time. I have plans at six.” 

We’re walking down the hall now to the exit, and I can feel the cold air the closer we get. They must have the door open.

“Hey, how about now? We can get it over with, and then we won’t have to meet up over the weekend.”

“Alright. I’m sold,” he says. “We can take my car.”

We step out into the cold air, nodding. If we can agree on anything, it’s on spending as little time with each other as possible. (Him because he hates me, me because I hate him also. I guess.)

And if that isn’t inspiring, it must be the numbing air that makes us run to Baz’s car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> editing it, i noticed that this chapter was a little dialogue-heavy. oops lol. i've decided i'll probably update twice a week, i think on tuesdays and saturdays, we'll see once school starts again! thank yall for reading :)


	7. Step 7: Go Cheap Budget Costume Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning this chapter contains more gratuitous inserts of my favorite musicians into baz's music library lol

_ Baz _

Simon Snow is in my car.

He’s fidgeting in the passenger’s seat, his leg hopping up and down and his fingers tapping the dashboard. His curly hair is growing out of his hat like flowers, his freckled face all wrapped in a scarf. His unremarkably blue eyes are wide and wandering, and I’m probably going to get us in an accident by looking at them in the mirror.

But crap, he’s in my  _ car _ . And even if we’re on a Trixie-mandated field trip to buy props for fucking SING, I’ll take it. 

“I’ll take it” should be my catchphrase.

“Hey Baz? Can we put on some music?”

I throw him the aux cord. “Just don’t put on anything annoying.”

“My phone’s dead.”

“You want us to get into car accident?” I ask, plugging my own phone in and shuffling my spotify. I steer with my knee.

“Who is this?” Simon asks.

“Jean-Luc Ponty.”

“Who what now?”

“He’s a violinist."

“Hmm.”

“I can change it,” I say, already pressing the next button.

“Oh no, you don’t have to! That’s not what I-”

“Snow,” I throw him my phone. “Just shuffle until you get to something you like.”

“Um. . . okay. Thanks.” He’s so fucking awkward. I keep my eyes on the road, and he switches songs. Once I hear the beginning of Mahler’s seventh, I know he’s going to change it again.

He does. Over, and over. He’s awfully predictable.  “I don’t know any of these people.” He’s shuffling so fast we don’t even hear the beginnings of half the songs.

“Seriously?” I say, throwing him a glance.

“What?” He looks up from my phone, defensive.

And in those two seconds of him looking at me, the very beginning notes of Take a Chance on Me by iconic Swedish pop band ABBA flow through the car speakers. I think I might throw myself through the windshield.

“Is this. . .”

“Change it, Snow.” I made myself vulnerable. I gave him free access to all of my music. Even if just on shuffle, no one should have that much power.

“Is this  _ ABBA _ ?” It’s my own fault.

“So what if it is?”

“So nothing.” He turns up the volume. Then, stifling his laughter, “Do you have their whole discography or?” What a piece of shit.

“Just the Greatest Hits.”

“Ah, of course.”

“Just be quiet, Snow.”

“Okay!” We drove the rest of the way to Michael’s in a surprising silence. He did stay quiet, and let Take a Chance on Me play until the end. And then, he stopped skipping songs. 

_______________________________________

 

“The hell do we need this much purple paint for?”

“Maybe the interior of the castle?” He suggests.

We walk out of the paint aisle, all the colors on Trixie’s list falling from our arms. We drop them into our cart, which is standing on old, dirt-flecked tiles. There’s just something lonely about the store. Empty. 

The way the displays seem old and nostalgic, in that some of the crayola pencils are in a package different from the others, and there are a few notebooks and picture frames with price tags missing, and rows of art supplies that seem untouched by people. And not in that they’re lined up perfect or anything, because they aren’t. Rather they’ve existed in this store independent of us, and will stay like this for some time. 

It’s unsettling.

“Next is. . . plywood? For the rally sign. Do they even sell that here?”

“Home depot,” I say. Part of what makes it all feel so surreal is Snow. It’s so tense, and we’re not talking to each other or trying to be nice. But somehow I feel a wall is absent. “There’s one right across the plaza.

_______________________________________

 

The plywood is in the back of my car, with all our paint and miscellaneous craft supplies. We could go home, really, but Snow fucking insisted on us going to the year-round costume store,  _ Halloween Outlet _ . What an awful name.

Really, the masochistic part of me doesn’t mind spending more time with him. So, basically, all of me agreed.

We walk through styrofoam gravestones and blackened, disproportionate skeletons to get to back-of-the-store costume wall.

“I think you need this cape, Baz,” he says, pulling the red, velvet cape away from the wall. Attempting humor.

“No,” I say curtly, being an asshole as always, but I mean. I don’t exactly know any other way to be.

“Are you gonna be a Twilight vampire then, or?”

“God no.” I turn to the shelf behind me, searching for fangs. And possibly torches, since citronella tiki torches are not our first choice.

When I glance back, he’s scrunching up his face. “What, then?”

“Honestly, we’ve all talked about it a little. We want it to be classy. Black slacks, black shirts, lace accessories. Most of the girls who aren’t mains are going to wear pant suits.”

“So, like, your everyday wardrobe?”

“Ha, ha.” I find a single package of realistic looking fangs, but they’re too expensive, and probably too small to notice from the audience. We’ll have to get those glowing plastic ones for most of the ensemble, but I’m hoping to find something a little more wicked for the rest of us.

“What about you, Snow?”

“I was thinking something Flynn Rider from Tangled, but more boring and pathetic. And minus the buckles.” My eyebrows shoot up.

“Why is it you want to look boring and pathetic?”

“Well, if I’m just being honest about my character. He’s really brave and all, but he’s not, like, cool. Next to you he looks like, the least elegant person. He’s obsessive, he sees things all. . . black and white, he’s dumb, and a villager. He’s kind of pathetic.”

“You  _ are _ kind of pathetic. So, it’s a good role for you,” I say, but there’s no malice in my voice.

Just like there’s none in his when he says, “You’re so right, Baz. And you’re  _ so cool, _ so of course your character’s gotta compare.” He grins.

I turn around coolly to search the wall of costumes. This way Snow can’t see that I’m smiling too. “Well,  _ yeah, _ ” I kind of mumble. 

“Hey. . . Baz? Would you want to maybe get together some time to work on our lines? It’s okay if you don’t, but.” He stops short.

“But?”

“Trixie’s right. We can’t just hate each other forever because of, what? A stupid grudge from Freshman year?”

“I can. You’ll find I’m quite good at it.” 

“At hating me? Bullshit, Baz.” Snow has no clue. How I spent all of Sophomore year fantasizing about all the horrible things I could do to him. How could I make him cry, could I make him feel small in class. How could I hurt his girlfriend, could I make him jealous when he never had any reason to be. And then at night, alone, I’d think about all the horrible things I could  _ do  _ to him.

“I know you’re a good person,” he says. I laugh short, almost like a huff. “You aren’t a bad person,” he affirms. (I wish he meant it.)

“I’ve found fangs.” They’re long and vicious looking, like they’d fill your mouth. Make you into a wicked monster.

“Christ, can’t you answer me? You aren’t a villain.”

“You cast me as one a lot.”

“That’s just- that’s a  _ role _ . This is real. Just-”

I let him struggle, grasp for words for a moment.

“Snow.” I turn around, a bunch of plastic fangs in my arms, and his mouth is still hanging open, trying to find the words. “I can run fucking lines.” I laugh. “Yeah, I can run lines.”

We’re smiling at each other now, and that’s weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i think the style of this fic may end up being like somewhat inconsistent? because i wrote it over such a long span of time/kept starting and stopping it, and any edits i made didn't change the tone too drastically sooo we'll see how this works out haha. also, thank you guys for your comments, i love yall and you make me glad i finally finished this fic lol


	8. Step 8: Reconcile With Your Neglected Friends

_ Penny _

Simon looks like a wreck when I see him. He always looks like a wreck, of course, with his clothes slightly disheveled, smelling faintly of smoke for who knows what reason. And I tell him this all the time. He says it’s my job to keep him normal, and if that’s true then I’m doing horribly, because I don’t think I’ve ever changed Simon Snow. I just nag him to let him know I care.

He’s good like this, anyway.

“Penny, it’s  _ awful _ .”

“Simon, you’re hitting your quota.”

“Wh- what? Are you really bringing that back?”

“Ten percent of the conversation, or he’s a present and immediate threat.”

“He is to me! Whatever that means anyway.” I give him my tired yet affectionate stare, and he takes a huge bite out of his pizza, chewing and looking pathetic. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do this. We keep saying we’re going to have a truce, but I swear he’s. . .”

“Don’t say plotting.” He rolls his eyes to look up at the ceiling, and sighs.

“The other day Trixie made us go prop-shopping together, and it was so- it was just tense. We’d been fighting again. But she was treating us like kids! Like, go play nice, or else.”

“Well, I don’t blame her. As annoying as she is-” I share a locker with her. Glitter everywhere. And she’s constantly making out with Kerris in the locker room before gym— I swear that’s the one way gay people are advantaged. “She’s right. Your rivalry with Baz is completely and utterly childish."

“Well, he’s gotta get over it. So we can win.”

“ _ He’s _ gotta get over it?”

“Fine. We’ve gotta get over it.”

“Hmm.” I think of what might help them move past this. because I want Simon to win his last SING! He loves it so much. And he deserves it. But how could I possibly make him love it any more?

I don’t know. And what I’m thinking now. . . I don’t know. “Isn’t there anything about Baz that could make you want to hang out with him? Like, maybe that’s what you need. Just a change in perspective, to try to enjoy those rehearsals. You can’t just- and you’re gonna hate me for saying this- but it’s not enough to just tolerate him and get along. If you want actual, palpable on-stage chemistry, you need to actually become, like. . . his friend.” Simon looks mortified.

“You want me to be friends with Baz? The  _ vampire _ ?”

“I’ll say it again- he’s just a boy.” That leaves Simon looking down at his pizza with concentration, like the room has dropped out from beneath him, and I’m gone with it. “What are some of his good qualities?” I watch him process the question.

“Well, his taste in music. It’s funny. He listens to a lot of people I’ve never heard of.” He looks back up at me. “And when his library was on shuffle in the car the other day, ABBA came on. I teased him sooo much.” He grins.

“You’re kidding! You’re  _ kidding _ ,” I laugh. I can imagine Baz sitting alone in his victorian mansion, listening to  _ Dancing Queen  _ or  _ Fernando _ through his headphones. No I can’t. “So there’s something. An intriguing music taste. . .”

“And he’s a sarcastic piece of shit. Now that he’s joking with me, sometimes. Yeah, he’s kinda funny.”

“So you can joke with each other, about your mutual hatred for each other!”

“I don’t know if I ever hated him,” he says kind of softly. Then he stuffs another bite of pizza in his mouth, as if that’ll erase the honesty of that statement.

“Of course you didn’t. This is high school. You’re not allowed to have an arch nemesis.” Simon is indisputably the main character of this story. He always demands the center of attention, of action, of drama, just by being who he is. And of course that means he thinks it’s perfectly normal to have an enemy. We’ve all been enabling him and Baz, by making them think they were at the center of something bigger.

“I’m going to his house tomorrow. To run lines. I suggested it.”

I know where I’d stand, as the sidekick in his story. Not unimportant, but not as important as him.

“I bet you have a lot to practice. Do you want to head out?”

“No, not yet! I want to talk to you more. All we’ve talked about is Baz, and that was supposed to be only ten percent of our conversation!” I smile back at him, thinking how no, this is real. How Simon does care about me, how he better, since he’s one of my only three friends.

I wonder if Baz might end up his friend through all this, and will that give me four friends? I have a small feeling. Just that there was always something about how those two are around each other.

They’re both dying to stop the act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was kind of short, but after this one they get much longer lol


	9. Step 9: Run Lines

_Simon_

When I finally walk up the long driveway to Baz’s house, I hear the sound of a violin, playing a romantic melody. I’ve heard he’s good but I’ve never heard him play, and so I stand at the front door maybe a bit longer than I should, before I ring the bell.

It’s one of those loud bells you can hear even outside, and the violin comes to a quick stop.

When Baz opens the door, he looks different, almost happy. Still with a scowl on his face. But his hair is in a loose bun. And he’s wearing skinny jeans. Not that he’s never worn those to school before, it’s just that I’ve never noticed how he looks in them.

“Are you gonna say something, or just stand there like a fucking idiot?”

“I- I wasn’t!” I say, as I step inside. (Maybe I was.)

“You can just leave your shoes,” he gestures to the floor.

“Okay,” I say, kicking them off, and feeling weird standing in my socks. In Baz’s house. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“You invited yourself.”

“Please don’t make this difficult.”

“I'm _joking_ ,” he says. Oh.

“Hi Joking, I’m Simon,” I say, and he starts laughing, shaking his head.

“That was bad,” he says. “Plus, your name is Snow.” He knows that gets me, and I can see the traces of a smirk on his mouth.

“It was a reflex. And, technically, it’s Simon. To _everyone_ _else_ but you, it’s Simon.”

“Well, technically my name is Tyrannus Basiltion-”

“ _Stop_ . Or we won’t have time to rehearse.” He gives me a look like, I see right through you. Like he knows that I’m _trying_ to be funny. I’m not good with words, so it’s not working too well.

But he humors me. “Grimm Pitch,” he whispers, then turns around to head up the stairs.

I follow him, preoccupied by how he looks, how he’s dressed only a little less formally than he would be in school, and still somehow he’s so much softer. And suddenly distracting.

“I like your jeans.” I almost don’t know I’m saying it.

“Checking me out, Snow?” Shit.

“No! I- I’m-” Was I?

“I know, I know. You’re _straight_. Again, joking.” He turns around on the stairs, and something doesn’t sit right with me about that statement.

“You don’t, like, _know_ that. For sure.”

“So you’re not straight?” He says, incredulously. He stops at the top of the steps, and so do I.

“That’s not what I said! I just said that _you_ don’t know. It’s wrong to assume.”

“Most straight guys don’t like to place any doubt, that’s all I was saying.”

“I’ve honestly never thought about it, okay? I mean, I’ve dated Agatha since—” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. And it makes me sad to think about Agatha.

“Wouldn’t you know by now?” He gives me an exasperated look. “I mean, I’ve known since I was like, _ten_.”

“You’ve known what?” He scoffs, and turns back around, beginning to walk down the hall. What does that mean? (Why do I want it to mean he _isn’t_ straight?) I jog to catch up.

“So what did you want to rehearse?” He asks.

“I think, all of our scenes. Especially during the truce.”

“Okay,” he says, opening the door to an insane bedroom I assume is his, with a huge bed and antique furniture. But there’s none of his personality in it. The only sign there’s _anyone_ living in it is his violin, sitting in an open case in the corner.

As I walk into his room, I’m thinking about how we can fix this. How we can win. What we’re doing wrong.

“We have to make it, I don’t know. Real.” We have so many feelings toward each other to work with, to act off. Most of them are negative but. It’s gotta be something we can use.

“I think our problem is it’s too real,” he says, sitting on the edge of his bed. “We bring too much of ourselves into our characters. It stops us.”

“But our characters are written for us, they basically _are_ us.” I don’t understand what he’s trying to say.

“No. They’re written for what we’ve always played. And that doesn’t work. We always fucking lose, Snow!” His voice isn’t angry. He’s not yelling at me, he’s just yelling. He flops back onto the bed.

“That's not true either!” I run my hand through my hair. “We’ve never played friends. God, shouldn’t that have fixed it?” He sits up.

“But we haven’t changed how we approach the characters. I hear it in your acting, Simon, I hear it in mine, it’s like we’re saying all the things we hate about each other and are angry about through our characters. So of course they don’t sound fucking real!” He’s gesturing like crazy, not like himself. He called me Simon, but I don’t say anything about it. (Does this mean he calls me Simon in his head?) I have to process what he said.

“But-” How can I put this? “We can’t pretend that isn’t all in the script either.” I don’t know. “And I’ve been thinking about it, and I talked to Penny.” He rolls his eyes at that. “Do we really hate each other?"

“Are you saying you don’t hate me?”

“No? Do you?” He sighs. And it occurs to me that he might still hate me. Like, really hate me. I look over at him, and his eyes are looking up.

“No,” he says, like he doesn’t want to admit it. And I’m relieved. “Okay, so maybe it would be useful to use that energy or whatever, as long as it doesn’t inhibit our performances. Or the believability that we’re friends at the end. But we still have to. . .” he taps his fingers on his knee. “. . . view our characters as _separate_.”

“Okay. Yeah, I agree.” I sit down next to him on the bed, and we just sit for a while. It’s kind of weird. I can’t get the sound of my name in his mouth out of my head. And I’m also thinking about the things that make Arthur different from me.

When I look over at Baz, he’s staring at the wall with a look of concentration on his face. Baz is super smart, and I’m trying to decide if his character is too. I think, maybe, his character is smarter than mine, but mostly just cocky and a wise-ass. Baz can be both of those things, but most of his thing is just being genuinely smarter.

Which doesn’t bother me so much. And when he’s being a wise-ass, I kind of like it. It’s funny.

Why did I ever hate him as much as I did?

“Should we talk first? About our interpretations of the characters?” He asks.

“Should we just talk? Like about, I don’t know, everything. That happened.” _Between us._ I feel breathless.

 

_Baz_

“No. No, I think we better. . . we better focus on the characters.”

I’m not prepared to explain to Snow that I’ve been in love with him. That he’s making it worse.

“We don’t have that much time and,” I say, “I mean, it’s not like we’re going to be friends after all this.”

“Okay,” he says, and nods his head over and over. He’s acting weird. “Yeah, of course, let’s- let’s start with our first scene together and then we can. We can go from there, talk about. . .”

“Our interpretations of the characters.”

“Yeah,” he says. He stands up from my bed. “Let’s start.”

 _______________________________________________

 

We’ve been rehearsing all day. We’re so tired. Snow’s shoulders look heavy, and my eyes feel dry and overused, begging me to close them.

We took a break a few hours ago to eat. Daphne made sour cherry scones, a bit of a tradition in our family, and Snow devoured them. It was a bit terrifying.

We brought the scones up to my room, and ate them on my bed. Snow was lying on his stomach, and it drove me a bit insane. Snow sitting in my bed was one thing but— I tried not to think about it.

So we ate scones and talked a little, mostly about the play. A little bit about our favorite music. (There were moments when I thought- and felt crazy- that he was flirting with me.) After a while, when all the scones were gone, we pulled ourselves up again.

We’re rehearsing our last scene now. The Bro Hug Scene. Right after we’ve killed the Mage together, where I tell him that it’s okay. The truce is over, he doesn’t need to feel bad. And all he says is “hey,” like “hey, stop that.” And then he hugs me.

“Should we be. . . _rehearsing_ the hug?” He asks. I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t think I can take this. I know we _should._

“We should.”

“So we’ll go from your line? What’s your blocking there?”

“I kind of turn away, stand up a little taller. And then you reach for my shoulder and say your “hey” kind of during the end of my line. Like, to stop me.”

Someone needs to stop me. I know it’s just a hug, but I can’t help think of it as more. And it is. It’s the most important moment in the play, possibly. In the moment where most other plays have The Kiss Scene— we have this. And once I’ve drawn that comparison, I can’t shake it from my head.

“Okay. Okay, your line, whenever you’re ready.” I see him try to get into character. It’s subtle, and I think he’s waiting to act off of me. I turn away.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Hey,” he says, a little too late, and grabs my shoulder. And then he pulls me into the bro hug. It’s more like an actual hug, which is not what we were going for. But it’s a good fucking hug. I feel, for a second, like I’m drowning in his smell. (Snow smells like clean linen and a vague smoke, even though he’s not a smoker. He used to smell completely of laundry detergent, but it’s softer now.) I hold on tight, for just a second, and his curls are right near my nose.

And then I pull away, and shake my head. Snow looks positively red.

“Not bro-ey enough. And you reacted a little late.”

“Bro-ier? Like, a bro hug?”

“Yeah. I thought that was the assumption.”

“In the script, it just says ‘Arthur hugs him,’ so I figured. That’s why I was worrying, um, how do I make that not awkward?” I can’t imagine how much more suffering I’d endure if it _were_ an actual hug. But I’m positive.

“Trixie referred to it before as ‘The Bro Hug.’”

“Well that’s- that’ll be a lot easier to pull off.” He nods. “Okay, yeah, let’s go again.”

_“_ Wait. I don’t think I’ve ever actually bro-hugged anyone,” I say. “And I assume you have, so.”

“You want a lesson on Bro Hug theory?”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay,” he says, looking up, nodding. “Okay, how can I explain a Bro Hug. It’s so- there are so many rules. It’s gotta have some force behind it, you know, at the start. But too much force, and it’s like, _whoa_ there, you know? But I think it’s safe to say, I mean this is a big moment, it’d be alright to have a bit more force behind it than usual. Just a bit.”

“Sounds like- okay, yeah. So since you’re the one who initiates the hug, you choose how much force there is? Like the force is in the impact?”

“Yeah, but you can’t just stand there. Okay, maybe for a moment, since you’re shocked, but then you gotta like pat my back or else it’ll be weird.”

“What would my arm be doing before that?”

“It’d honestly just be like in the air, I think. We’ll see when we practice.”

“Yeah,” I shake my head. “Okay.”

“And the pat! the pat is important also. You pat too lightly, it’s like. It’s just weird. Also, one arm only. The other arm will- it’s like, I grab your opposite hand to start the hug, so that keeps it pretty casual.”

“Of course, of course.”

“And after two pats then it’s over. Three is really pushing it.”

“Okay. I think I understand.” You just have to manage your every movement, play it straight. I can handle that. (I did it for 15 years of my life, about.)

“Um, I think before we go again, I’m gonna text my mom that she can pick me up.” When he gets to his phone, which is on the bed, his eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit- it’s Trixie. In all caps.”

“What?”

“Read this,” he says, urgently. He hands me his phone, and there are a _series_ of messages from Trixie, sent in a massive group chat:

_ATTENTION ALL CAST AND CREW MEMBERS: MAJOR MID-PRODUCTION CHANGES_

_THERE WILL BE A MANDATORY MEETING MONDAY AFTER SCHOOL AT 3:00 P.M. TO DISCUSS THESE CHANGES. IF YOU CANNOT ATTEND, CONTACT ME_ IMMEDIATELY.

_THERE WILL BE THREE WRITERS MEETINGS TO DISCUSS AND EXECUTE RE-WRITES TO THE SCRIPT. CAST INVITED._

_AN ESTIMATED FIVE ADDITIONAL REHEARSALS WILL ALSO BE ADDED TO BLOCK AND REHEARSE THE RE-WRITES. NOT ALL CAST WILL NEED TO BE PRESENT. A SCHEDULE WILL BE POSTED BY FRIDAY._

_WE WILL ALSO BE CASTING TWO MINOR SPEAKING ROLES, OPEN TO ALL._

_I KNOW THIS SEEMS DRASTIC, BUT IT IS_ **_VITAL_ ** _TO EXPLAINING THE MAGE’S MOTIVES, AND CONNECTING BOTH THE VAMPIRES AND VILLAGERS TO THE CONFLICT WITH THE MAGE!!!_

_PLEASE SAVE YOUR QUESTIONS FOR MONDAY’S MEETING._

_I CAN DO THIS AS I AM THE DIRECTOR AND YOU ALL HAVE TO SUBMIT TO MY WILL._

_PROMISE THIS WILL BE GOOD XOXO_

Snow looks absolutely terrified, eyes wide, mouth open. (He’s such a mouth breather.)

“We better not worry about it,” I say. “We trust Trixie’s judgement.”

“We do?” He asks.

“The show’s in less than a month. She can’t do anything too drastic.” I’m trying to convince myself.

The thing is, SING! is always so awful, so horrible, so unfulfilling. A plot change made solely to make it a better _story_? I’m hoping, and it pains me to think this, I’m hoping that Trixie’s doing something right.


	10. Step 10: Change Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie explains why she's changing the play! And Agatha and Simon are getting back together. Well, no, they're not. But Baz thinks so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I might not get to update Tuesday, because this week I have: SAT, research paper, AP Russian test, short film. I'll be back on Saturday, but maybe sooner depending on how things go haha. Thank you for your kudos and comments!

_ Simon _

“So the vampires are, like, vegetarians.”

“What?”

“So, if human blood is meat, and other blood is vegetables,” Trixie says, and everyone groans.

“That’s not even vegetarianism, Trixie,” yells Gareth from the back of the room.

“She didn’t say they  _ were _ vegetarians, she said they were  _ like  _ vegetarians.”

“What’s a vampire vegan, then?”

“They don’t eat any human byproducts either _. _ ”

“What does that even  _ mean _ ?”

“This is your big, fantastic change?” Baz asks, and he looks tired. “Seriously?”

“No no no, wait, there’s more. Everyone, shhhh!” Everyone stops talking, but they all look disbelieving. They are probably wondering what change could possibly be worth more rehearsal time.

“Okay, so I know we’ve been saying the mage is evil without really explaining it, like that’s part of the joke. But I think I figured out a really good explanation! We can still make it campy, but everything just. . . falls into place.” She breathes out, her big eyes flitting back and forth, almost like searching our faces for reassurance.

“So we start with a scene and it’s like, two kids playing hide and seek. At night. And one of them starts counting, and then the stage just goes  _ black _ — you hear a scream. And then it’d go to our original first scene, with the petty feud song between the vampires and villagers. But now, it all started with a mother accusing the vampires of taking her kid. And they’ll be all like, ‘no way, we don’t kidnap children.’ Like Keris will say ‘we’re, like, vegetarians,’ of course, no one will believe her.

“But then after the song, the other kid comes out to explain that they saw what happened, and that it was the  _ mage _ who took her. And that she was oozing blood out of her pores, like she’d been cursed. And this kid will say she’s probably still alive! 

“So someone will be, like, ‘why?’ And the answer is,” Trixie pauses dramatically, and everyone’s getting excited, you can feel it in the room. “Well, why _ else _ would the mage need her?”

Somebody hums the x-files theme, and we burst out laughing. Trixie smiles, like she’s relieved. This is why I love SING! This is the kind of thing. Because I know that’ll be in the show, and it happened just like that. 

“But then, after that, the villagers are all like, ‘We still hate the vampires ‘cause they’re assholes and kill our sheep.’ And we could even address that later, like— ‘Why are you guys so creepy then?’ Since they’re vegetarians, you know? And the answers would be, like, ‘aesthetic,’ ‘we found it funny.’” I look over at Baz, not even consciously. My eyes kind of wander there on their own. And he looks tentatively happy, in a secret emo way. He knows it makes sense. He can feel it too.

And it makes me smile.  _ He _ does. (That’s new.) (A new list is forming in my head of things to not think too hard about, and every single one is him.)

Trixie’s talking again. “-the villagers need the vampires, because they’re the only ones strong enough to beat magic. And the vampires kind of want to prove they’re not monsters, so they do it.”

Baz turns his head, and looks right at me. I can tell he saw me looking, cause his mouth quirks. (He doesn’t sneer anymore.) I want to look away, but he isn’t, and so I smile back a bit. And I let myself stare at his grey eyes a little longer than normal.

And then Agatha’s at the front of the room, talking. And I’m ripped from whatever that just was. “So I know none of you guys in stage crew take it very seriously, but we’re gonna need extra rehearsals to practice this, I’m thinking at least two. Especially to pull off the blackout and the scream and the timing with the scene change and all. We need to be able to show the passing time, too. It’s not easy.” I’m not sad anymore about our breakup. If I even was sad. At this point, it just feels like whatever dumb thing happened should be over by now, and we should all be friends again. Her, Penny, and me.

“So I just really want all of you to come and please understand that many of us care a lot about this play. So even if you can’t make yourself care about it, and you’re just here to hang with your friends, pretend to care for me? Thanks.” She sits back down, near the door, and I’m on the edge of my seat.

“And that’s all, really,” Trixie says. “First re-writer’s meeting tomorrow. All of you go home!”

I walk over to Agatha, who’s already almost out the door.

“Agatha!” She stops right outside the classroom.

“Simon?” I catch up to her, hands in my pocket.

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay,” she says. She looks really good. She’s wearing a yellow dress, like it isn’t practically winter.

“I miss you,” I say. She shakes her head.

“Me too. Simon, I don’t know what I was thinking. . .” She’s wringing her hands together, and avoiding my eye contact. Which is not an Agatha thing.

“About?”

“I agree with you. You’re right. We should get back together,” she doesn’t seem very present. It’s freaking me out.

“I never said- God, Agatha, I’m sorry.” I step back. “I didn’t mean- I actually. I think it’s good that you broke up with me. For both of us.”

“You do?” I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings. I can’t read her expression. Her lovely face.

“But I miss being your friend. You and Penny have always been, like, my best friends. And I think. I mean, I hope we can still be friends, and it won’t be weird. ‘Cause I just. I missed you.” She looks like she’s about to cry, and I step forward again, grabbing her arms. “Oh no, Agatha, please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I-”

“You don’t know how relieved I am Simon,” she says, and I’m even more confused. But she hugs me, and I hug her back. It’s a good hug, and I think I almost crush her with how hard I hug her back. We’re laughing now.

Agatha and I never used to kiss much, but we did cuddle a lot. Not much unlike how me and Penny are. Really, being Agatha’s friend will be no different than being her boyfriend.

If she wants to be friends. I just stand holding her, telepathically asking her to  _ say something _ , because my words just aren’t here right now.

“Of course I’ll be your friend still,” she says. “I thought, when I broke up with you that you wouldn’t  _ want _ to be friends anymore. And that’s why I didn’t for so long, I really thought. I only broke up with you when I had to, when it had gotten so bad,” she rambles.

“I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry. I was  _ so _ horrible- a horrible boyfriend.” She steps back smiling. I’m glad she’s smiling.

“You were. But it wasn’t that.”

“Do you want to go talk somewhere?” She does, and as we walk to the nearest coffee shop, I make a new list in my head: of things I didn’t realize, but I’ve been waiting to tell Agatha, or ask her. (Is it usual to feel so warm around someone out of nowhere? Someone you hated, whatever that means.) (Of course, that question I’ll probably keep in my head for now.) Mostly, I’m full of rehearsal stories that would bore Penny, but I know she’d like.

Half of them are about Baz, really.

_ Baz _

I guess the golden couple is back together again. I don’t know what I expected.

I didn’t realize I was expecting anything until he ran out of the room after her, and I felt my breath stop, and then fall out of me. Like I’d been punched in the gut.

He’d been staring seconds before. Longer than he should’ve. I guess I don’t know what he should and shouldn’t do. I don’t know.

When I’m about to leave the room, Trixie stops me. “Okay, Baz?”

“Of course.”

“Alright. See you later, then.” She nods awkwardly, her pink hair all in her face, but her hands too full of props and papers to move it out, or give a proper wave.

“How’d your date go this weekend? With Keris.” I like Trixie and Keris enough. They’re cool.

(I’m thinking I’ll possibly become their friend, once SING! is over and Snow is done with me. Dev and Niall are getting on my nerves recently, and I could stand to hang out with other gay people.)

“It was good. Really good. Yeah, I- I’m head over heels,” she looks down with her cheeks utterly pink. I’m a little irritated at her happiness, and my misery.

“That’s good. I’m happy for you guys.” I’ve made this awkward quite quickly.

“Baz?” She stops me, and looks at me like I’m some disaster, and she can see it clear as day. “There are other guys,” she says, and I know she’s noticed.

_ Of course she did _ , I think, anyone paying attention could notice. I think it’s written on my forehead.

“Thanks,” I just say, and leave.

I’m only glad that SING! is almost over, and until then I have things to live for: the Bro Hug, for example. And our duet, which is reason enough to not kill myself right now. Yeah, instead I’ll go slowly- every time I’m exposed to the UV rays of Snow’s smile, my skin will shrivel up. Maybe a nerve signal will stop, and my pulse will weaken. 

I’ll keel over at the first moment possible, once I know we’ve won. 


	11. Step 11: Push Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it's mentioned in the chapter itself, this takes place a little over a week after the prior chapter. So you can fill in the blanks as to what's happened in that time. Also! Their duet song is finally revealed :)
> 
> Oh also TW for brief (like one sentence) suicide mention

_Baz_

I’m sitting at Fiona’s table, picking at my TV dinner, my fork dragging across the plate. My mind had been jumping all over the place, somehow landing on Snow every time, and all while in that suffocating house— so I showed up here, where at least I don’t have to see my father. Of course my house is bigger, but there’s something more spacious in Fiona’s non-decor, in the only separation between us and the city, the whole sky, being her big bay windows. Up five stories from the ground, miles away from my family and Snow and anyone, I can breathe. (I can’t believe it took me over a week before I had the idea to escape to Fiona’s.)

“Baz, you’re too much with the scraping and the sulking.” Her voice lilts dramatically. “What’s wrong?”

“The same,” I say curtly.

I can feel her incredulous look. She just waits, knowing I’ll start talking on my own. (Knowing I don’t _really_ want to shut up.)

“Malcolm—” I call him this passive aggressively— “thinks I’m a big queer shame, for one. He makes me want to fuckin’ kill myself, but I probably won’t give him that satisfaction. And then, I have only two friends who make me feel like I, in fact, have _negative-_ two friends, I’m spending _all_ my time at miserable SING! rehearsals, and I’m _pining_ after Snow. As always. And I feel fucking _pathetic_.” I stuff a dinosaur chicken nugget in my mouth, and sigh.

“It is fucking pathetic,” she says in her usual biting voice, and I don’t even defend myself.

“I just- for a moment there, I thought he was flirting with me. Or so I wanted to think, but I knew not to, of course. . . but I still did.” Fiona taps her fork against the edge of her plate while I stare out at the city, which is so dark against the fluorescent lighting in Fiona’s apartment.

My face is in her window, distorted and doubled, colors subdued. There is only light or pitch black: the insufferably white dinner table, the soft streetlights and their warm glint on the city street. Fiona’s flat white walls, or the infinitely deep night, with its two winking stars. (And I _know_ I’m being melodramatic. I think I’m allowed that.)

“What made you think that he was flirting?” She says it disinterestedly, but I know she’s listening.

“I don’t know. He came over to run lines Saturday.”

“To your house?” she asks, like I’ve never had a friend over. (Because I haven’t.)

“Yeah. And the things he said. . . I teased him, and he reacted really funny before suggesting that he wasn’t sure he was straight, which I never— it’s better to just think that there’s absolutely no chance, but now, I don’t know. . . And then he was lying in my bed, and smiling at me, and he hugged me really good while we were rehearsing, and I can’t stop myself, I can’t pretend I didn’t _feel_ that all!”

“You’re right. I suppose, and I wouldn’t ask you to pretend, Baz.” See sighs. “But _God_ I miss when you weren’t such a doormat.”

“A doormat. You’re calling me a doormat?” She nods, like, _no fucking shit._

“Bite back a little. If this Simon Snow is leading you on, maybe flirt with him back. Or go back to being mean to him, I don’t care. Just don’t be so,” she looks at me with a mix of disdain and humor, “whiney.”

And I think how it _is_ fun to push Snow’s buttons. And how maybe I’ll try pushing some new ones.

__________________________________________

 

We’re being kept in the auditorium after rehearsal, for reasons withheld by Trixie. Snow and Agatha are sitting together in one of the front rows, and as I walk up the aisle to find myself a seat far behind them, Snow’s face brightens and he catches my eye.

“Hey Baz!” He waves at me, even though I’m standing only feet away.

“Snow,” I say, offering him a slight smile to keep things diplomatic.

As I walk by him, he reaches out, over Agatha’s whole body, mind you, and tugs on my sleeve. “Sit with us!” He nods toward the seat next to him, still looking right into my eyes, and I feel weak.

Not like a doormat, but more like some spineless sea creature, suffocating on air.

Either way, I move to sit down.

“Hello Agatha.”

“Hi Baz!” It’s hard to hate Agatha. Whenever I fantasize about stealing Snow from her, I end up feeling incredibly bad. (It doesn’t stop me.)

When I sit next to Snow, he turns to me grinning, and I have to stop myself before becoming breathless.

“Do you know why Trixie’s holding us here?” I ask.

“No clue. Do you?”

“Yeah, Snow, that’s why I asked you.” His face reddens.

“I didn’t— you—” He has to take a breath. “You know what I meant to say!” I find him infinitely adorable.

“I find you infinitely amusing, Snow.” I make myself look away from him, searching around the auditorium.

“And I find you infinitely—” The words stop abruptly. I can’t help but smile at him, still looking away.

What’s surprising is how Agatha giggles at our exchange. How she says _you seem to be getting flustered, Simon,_ and how he turns to her and gets bright red. How they have a silent conversation in front of me, as if she knows something, grinning with her eyes as the flush creeps up Snow’s ears and he stammers out a _shut up_.

“It’s okay, Simon, we know words aren’t your strong suit. It’s quite endearing— right Baz?” I turn my gaze back to Snow.

“Extremely.” Just as he’s about to swat at me, Trixie’s voice cracks through the air.

“Attention folks!” It’s blaring, accompanied by a harsh ringing sound from the mic and everyone’s groaning. And, immediately, the panic of our sound guy from the back of the room as he jumps to lower all the levels.

“We good?” She yells to the back before putting the mic to her mouth. “Okay. So I called you all here because we have enough intel on JSV’s show, and hell week is next week! So, if we’re going to add in some last minute shade, now’s the time to do it.”

It’s one of the cruder traditions of SING! To simply jab at the other show, in the lowest way possible, without being censored by Ebb, because we put the lines in last minute.

Up on stage, Gareth takes the mic. “Their show this year is basically begging to be made fun of. If you don’t already know, it’s about a carnival which is— it makes it so easy for us.”

Trixie snatches the mic back— “But we can’t just offer up any half-hearted joke. In fact, I would argue that it’s _more_ important that they hit.”

Gareth leans into her personal space. “We can make fun of is how the main characters are all clowns! They’ve brought it upon themselves.” Trixie pushes him away.

“So. . . any suggestions?” She pulls the cap off a dry erase marker and starts making a list. I feel like I’m on the edge of killing myself.

“Is this really necessary?” I whisper to Snow, as a girl’s hand rockets up to suggest we have a medieval jester come out on stage before being shooed off by the rest of the cast. As if the idea’s a stroke of brilliance.

He shrugs.

“We could be rehearsing our song right now.”

“You’re right.”

“I really hate this. This is so low. And it isn’t even funny!” Snow is leaning in, listening, with wide eyes. He nods.

“You’re right.” He raises his own hand, cocking his head to the side. “Trixie!”

She pivots from the board. “Yes, Simon?”

“Permission to bounce to go rehearse our duet?” I try to psychically communicate a pleading desperation her.

“Fine. You two can use Ebb’s classroom.”

Rhys whistles from one of the back rows, eliciting sporadic laughter throughout the auditorium. Of course, the connotations of our duet allow for such jokes almost daily. Snow and I stand to leave, shaking our heads and smiling. (I guess, it’s just that silly.)

As we step past Agatha, I notice another strange look on her face that I don’t dwell on, because Snow is pulling me by the arm out of the auditorium. I shiver at the contact.

_Simon_

Baz groans, as soon as we walk into Ebb’s room. “Why do you get to be Rihanna?”

“Because I’m so wonderful and talented?”

“You’re a _fool_.” He says it with such a lightness in his voice, and I wonder how we got here, teasing each other. Without malice.

“Maybe I am. But I’m also Rihanna.”

I let myself smile at him a moment too long, and a little too soft.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Let’s go from the top, Rihanna” He walks over to the piano and hits a C chord, looking expectantly at me.

I’m not the best singer, but I guess I’m better than most boys my age. I still get extremely nervous. Baz told me the other day that it’s the one thing I’m better than him at, and I think that only made me more nervous. I remember what he said, about my voice being slightly rough. _It gives you chills,_ he said, and I didn’t know what to say. Partly because I was just so startled he was complimenting me, partly because I was just shocked anyone could think that about my voice.

“ _All along it was a fever. A cold sweat hot-headed believer.”_ Our version starts out the same, just to ground the audience, I guess. I don’t think too much about the words, especially not when I’m singing. I only think of the feelings.

“ _I threw my torch in the air, said just go away. He said ‘if you dare come a little closer.’”_

I glance over at him, and Baz is in character now, captivating in how he just _reacts_. To every single line. I’m singing on autopilot, already at the end of the hook.

“ _-something in the way you move_

_makes me feel like i just shouldn't trust you,_

_you're someone that i used to hate,_

_but I need you to stay.”_

Then, I say, “We need to fight the mage,” and he huffs, turning to me with such a pained expression, I stop dead. It’s his verse anyway.

“ _It’s not much of a life I’m living._

 _So stab my heart with a stake, I’m quittin’.”_ (I never said SING! lyrics are good. Most of them are really, really bad. In our case, melodramatic. You have to love it, though.)

Baz sings through his part with his too-smooth voice, almost perfectly. I don’t know when it happened, but it’s like a switch flipped, and everything’s amazing recently.

It’s the bridge, and we’re both singing together now, only I’m doing the falsetto “ooo”s in between that Rihanna does.

“ _Funny I’m the hero here,_

_well maybe I’m the one who needed_

_saving,”_ I sing. We’re at the extremely dramatic part now, where we really bring out the romantic undertones of the song. I’m trying not to be distracted by the look on Baz’s face— he’s such a good actor, he almost seems lovesick.

“ _And all those walls i built so high,_

 _of all the people_ —” he gestures at me— “ _now they’re finally caving.”_

I do the low harmonies, and that last word, _caving,_ makes me melt. All the tension just releases in a unison, like a sigh.

We sing the chorus together, only this time after the initial _I need you to stay,_ there’s a repeated _I_ want _you to stay_. Trixie is especially proud of that lyric.

And, of course, she choreographed it so that we touch our palms together then, “like we’re lining them up on either side of a window.”

When it’s over, we both hang in character for just a moment, before sighing it all out. I don’t know why, but I don’t let go of Baz’s hand as big smiles crack across our faces.

“Wow,” I say.

“That was almost fucking _perfect_.”

“It was!”

“And I’m not doing that again today.”

“Oh yeah, me neither.”

“ _Fuck._ Snow, that was the best we’ve ever done that!”

“I know!” I know. I’m incredibly excited, my brain jumping to _last chance_ and _winning_ and _making it the best yet_ and the best _possible_. That was the best possible.

“Are you gonna let go of my hand?” Suddenly he’s quiet.

“Right. Sorry.”

_Baz_

There goes pushing buttons back, there goes not being a sea sponge, or whatever. Because Snow is staring me with an open, smiling face. Because we’re both equally bright red. Because we’ve both been hit with the magnitude of that moment. Because he held my hand, and I’m not gonna stop thinking about that for a while.


	12. Step 12: Get Through Hell Week

_Simon_

Hell week is always brutal. It’s intense, absolutely draining— how we work the hell out of the play, ‘till nine every night. Usually, we end up staying later. We don’t sleep. It’s impossible.

This week has been no different.

It’s Wednesday, the night before opening night, and we’re taking a break in a diner in the middle of our last rehearsal— Baz, Agatha, Penny, and me.

I had to beg Penny to come, but I knew she would cave eventually, since I miss her and I assume she misses me. Agatha was also a question, since we just made up. I’m not sure where we stand.

Strangely, Baz was the only one who I knew without a doubt would come.

The diner is close to school, an always-busy hangout. There are about four other groups of SING! kids here with us— annoying underclassmen, some from the other show— but we’re in a quiet booth in the back, close together on the teal seats.

I’m pressed between Baz and the tiled wall, yet perfectly fine with that. We’re all warm and tired and happy to be taking a break, a breath.

Penny is full of energy, the rest of us sleepy and subdued. But it’s all good. We’re talking about how hopeful we are about the show, about how we’ve spent the week.

“I swear, I’m gonna kill some of these stage crew kids. It’s a surprise I haven’t yet."

“What’s wrong with them?” Penny asks.

“I just can’t depend on them!” Agatha must notice our startled faces, because then she blurts: “But this week they’ve been better.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, for _them_.” She shakes her head. I’ve never seen someone eat a grilled cheese so aggressively.

“I think we’re gonna be okay,” I say, and the girls nod. I turn to Baz, and he’s smiling at me. He looks tired, not as composed as he usually is, and I love how it looks on him. I grab a french fry from his basket.

“Did I tell you all? While you’ve been rehearsing for your vampire play all week, I’ve been studying— don’t give me that look, Si— I’ve been studying gothic literature! I realized I don’t know enough about vampire lore, and I also don’t read enough European writing. So I’ll be extremely well-informed for your play!” I love watching Penny talk like this. It’s the best part of being her friend— whenever the right words aren’t there, or I don’t have much to say, she can just carry a whole conversation. She knows that I really listen. And I get to see her being happy and passionate, truly _Penny_.

“For example,” she says, “so vampirism tends to be an allegory for disease, sexuality, or— and this all really makes sense when you think about it—  our psychological relationship to death!” I don’t know anyone but Penny who can get so excited about this kind of thing. She’s beaming. “—And like, horror as a whole genre tends to express the cultural anxieties of a certain time period, so it’s _really_ interesting to look at how the genre has progressed— like, at first vampires were pretty straightforward, represented depravity and all around immorality. And then you have the heroic vampire, where it became more an exploration of right and wrong—”

She stops abruptly, giving me a funny look, and I realize she’s looking at the root beer float in my hand. Or, rather, Baz’s float that I grabbed absentmindedly. He doesn’t seem to mind, but I guess it _is_ weird.

We’ve been enemies for so long, it must be weird to see us as friends.

“So, yeah, you could probably spend forever studying it. I’ve been reading for a few days and all I have are more questions,” she says. I put the glass down and steal a glance at Baz, who is just nodding his head at Penny.

I haven’t had time to think about it, how surreal this all is, because it feels perfectly normal. Us being friends, or whatever we are. Not enemies. Suddenly, we just are.

Weird.

Like, last night, we were getting extremely frustrated about this one scene, where Baz tells me I have to be the one to kill the mage. There was just something off about it, stilted. We didn’t have time to fix it during the run-through, but we couldn’t just leave it the way it was.

So we decided to fix it at his house that night. Desperately, we ran the lines over and over until they felt good, and Baz talked about how he thought they should be said. We were too tired to stand to practice the blocking, we just sat on his couch.

We fell asleep together, in his freaking living room. On his couch. In the morning, I was somehow laying half on top of him, with my arm across his torso, my head on his shoulder. I expected him to be mad when we both woke up, bright red and avoiding each other’s eyes.

But he was just panicked that his dad could’ve found us that way.

I pull on the sleeve of Baz’s sweater, which I wore to school. No one noticed, I don’t think. But all day I’ve had this soft feeling every time I look down at it, reminded of the feeling of being pressed against him, of having his cedar and bergamot scent in my nose. It was just comforting. And he was so soft, with his bed head.

I won’t let myself think about it. Or rather, wonder about it. I’ve been thinking about it all day, but I won’t get twisted about it. I won’t try to work through any of those passing thoughts.

They pass, and then they’re gone, and I’m in the present again. Baz and Penny are laughing.

“I mean it! There’s something wrong with these people who are completely consumed by excitement for any school-sponsored event. Like, Rhys? At the pep rallies? In that fucking fursuit of a mascot? Come on.”

“Agatha, you realize you’re the stage manager for SING!, right? That’s a school sponsored event,” Penny says.

“Okay, but I’m more in it for the social aspect. Stuff like this. If we were on the other side of the country, in California, and you guys were all super passionate about surfing, I would haul my ass to the beach every day and—”

“And surf?” I ask.

“And sunbathe, or something. Play beach volleyball with movie stars. Become an expert sandcastle builder.”

“That’s actually really sweet, Agatha,” Penny says.

“Well, yeah,” she says. “Haven’t you guys noticed? I’m really fucking sweet! I’m the sweetest!”

“They take you for granted,” Baz says melodramatically.

“Hey, what time do you guys have to be back at the school?” Penny asks, her phone lighting up in her hand.

“Not ‘till 6:15,” says Agatha. “It’s not 6:15 yet, is it?”

“It’s 5:58.”  

“Damn, so you guys have to leave soon, right? You don’t want to make Ebb mad if you’re late.”

“Ebb? Mad?” Baz says. “It’s Trixie we have to worry about. She’s the one who will make us suffer.”

“Yeah, poor Ebb. She’d never yell at us. She’s honestly great,” Agatha says, and I nod my head. Ebb is great. I always feel so comfortable in her room, talking to her. Even if she has a reputation, even if she seems scary or weird to other students. I know Ebb.

Monday, the start of Hell Week, I sat in her room after school, and we reminisced. I was feeling particularly lost, like it was simply wrong that this would be my last ever Hell Week. My last ever opening night. My last ever SING!

The thing about Ebb is, she didn’t try to reassure me, or try to make me feel some sense of normalcy. She said, “You’re right, Simon, it’s not right,” and “It shouldn’t be over so soon,” and “I’m gonna miss you coming to my room to talk.” I told her that I would always come to her room, that I would visit, and she teared up and shook her head. (Ebb is always weepy.)

But it somehow made me feel better. Ebb told me we could win, but she also said “Everyone always want to win. Everybody wants talent and power and all that. Sometimes it just makes you feel bad. It’s not all that,” which made me feel better about the whole thing, even though I don’t think I’ll stop wanting to win.

And then, when I reassured her again that I would come back to visit, she said that she might not be here. “I’m retiring. Not next year, but the year after. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ll be off in the countryside, herding goats.”

“I’ll visit you there,” I said, and smiled at the image of Ebb happy, in her element. She’s in her element here, in the theatre, but she also seems absent. Like she’s _imagining_ herself somewhere far away. Goats would be good for her, I think.

“We should go soon,” Baz says, which reels my mind back to the diner. Next to Baz. It’s 6:05.

“Yeah,” I say.

“You okay?” He asks me. Softly, just to me. His head turned, looking at just me.

“Yes. Well, no. I really don’t want to go.”

“That’s silly, Simon, we’ll be late,” Agatha says.

“No, I mean, I don’t want it to be over.”

“I know what you mean,” Baz says, and I just want to cry.

“You guys are so dramatic!” Penny groans. “This is why I could never do SING! It’s not like you’re all dying or leaving. We could _literally_ come back to this diner next week. It will still be here!”

“I guess.”

“Stop moping,” she says. “Go to your rehearsal. Have a fun time. Get a little perspective! You’ll all survive, I promise.”

I walk to rehearsal thinking about what she said about going back to the diner next week. And although Penny is usually right, I’m not sure she is now. I’m not sure that Baz would come back to this diner with us. I’m not sure we’ll ever come back to the way things are right now, once SING! is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if that chapter was a little short, but we're gearing up to some big events so i just wanted to give the characters some time 2 breathe lol. from here until the end, updates will probably be just on saturdays though :0 i'll try to update next tuesdayish, but aps might make that difficult. don't worry though, because the final three chapters are all quite eventful and should tide everyone over :)


	13. Step 13: Have a Kickass Opening Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is mostly about the actual performance they've been working toward rather than any events involving the actual characters. so if you want, you can probably skim through it up until the last few paragraphs. unless you're the kind of person (like me) who reads about a fictional work inside of another fictional work and always wants to know what it's actually about, which is half the reason i wrote this chapter in the first place haha. hope you enjoy!

_Baz_

The anticipation in the air is. . . overwhelming. And sickening. We all stand in the wings, close together, practically shaking with nerves and excitement. Snow is actually bouncing on his toes, and wringing out his hands. I just want to stop him, to put my hand on his shoulder and calm him down, because I can _feel_ the waves of anxiety coming from his skin. But there are about ten extras between us.

The house lights dim, the audience goes quiet, the timpani roll begins, and everyone goes perfectly still. Even Snow is still for whole overture.

The curtains open on a dark scene. There are a few lamps radiating gentle, warm light, and a spot on the two kids center stage. We have our night backdrop out and, courtesy to Agatha’s genius, some of the stars are actually twinkling lights. I don’t think the other team’s set could possibly parallel ours. It’s simple, and so we were able to spend most of our energy making it beautiful: day and night backdrops, small movable houses and a movable castle that’s not too big but breathtakingly detailed, and the Mage’s lair, which is just three adjacent “stone” walls draped with shimmery purple curtains. It may be the only truly good thing about this play.

Onstage, the kids start their game of hide and seek. One stays under the spot, covering his eyes and counting, while the other runs behind a village house. There are a few moments of stillness, punctuated by _fourmissisippi, threemississippi, two—_ before a shriek rips through the theatre, and the stage goes dark.

That’s when the rush begins. Stage crew replaces the night with the day. All of the villager extras surge onto the stage and into place.

There is a cymbal swell, and the stage lights go on on the downbeat, the band playing a vamp of the beginning of Mamma Mia. (Which is a surprisingly creative song to use for the “fight” scene, considering the general lack of creativity SING! suffers from.) (Although it gives me nightmare-ish flashbacks to when Snow discovered my secret affinity for ABBA.)

“Emily! Emily? Does anyone know where my daughter is? She never came home last night!”

“I’ll bet it was those vampires again!” And this is where the awful writing starts to undermine any other good.

Snow walks onstage like an asshole, asking what’s wrong. And the conflict is established, of course, through the opening of Mamma Mia.

They almost make it to the chorus before I enter, backed by a few vampires, and the music stops abruptly.

“What are you doing here?” Snow yells.

“Just paying our favorite villagers a visit,” I say, walking to face him center stage, and feeling like a bad villain from a kid’s movie. (Like maybe George Lopez from Sharkboy and Lavagirl.) “Good morning.”

“I know what you did! I know that you took another one of us last night.”

“Oh, _please_. Although we’d love to take all the credit. . .”

He steps closer, and there’s heat radiating off of him. “I know what you _are_.”

“What am I then?” I laugh. The first time we did this scene was at auditions. When we were both barely acting. Now, I have to transport myself back to when Snow really treated me this way. When everything was a confrontation. “Say it.”

“You’re a monster!” Snow’s performance is good tonight.

I tell myself that it’s because he’s not performing. I tell myself that nothing has really changed, and I try to not let the hope that I’m _so_ wrong slip through any cracks in my performance. I let myself be taken by anger, and I direct it all at Snow. At his character.

At who Snow, no doubt, _was._ Even if he isn’t still.

“What _am_ I?” I’m in his face. I’m so close, and I can see that I’m getting to him.

“The devil is in your soul!” He turns his face up at me. Squares his jaw.

“ _Say it.”_ Behind us, the vampires and villagers, who had been stalking around each other, stop.

“VAMPIRE!” Simon yells, and the ensemble breaks out into chaos, with the _yes, I’ve been broken-hearted_ part of Mamma Mia playing in the background. It’s hysterical, but it’s also going _incredibly_ well.

_______________________________

 

“So, my daughter?”

“Is probably dead,” Snow says. They’ve just chased us all away, and are acting like fools. (Gareth got his rap battle.) “What can you do? It was those vampires.”

“I know what happened to your daughter!” The kid from before yells, running onstage. “I was there! I ran away, I was afraid. I’m sorry—”

“What happened to her?”

“It was the mage! She didn’t see me, but I saw it _all._ She did a spell, and it made Emily pass out. Blood was coming out of her pores!” Everyone gasps. “And then the mage carried her off, but. . . I think she’s still alive.”

“Why?” Snow asks.

“Why would the mage want her otherwise?” There’s a beat of silence.

“Well, we still hate the vampires, because they’re jerks, and kill our sheep!” Simon declares, and everyone nods in agreement.

“But my _daughter!”_

“Oh, right. Well, we should do something about that!” The villagers roar in response, raising their torches.

“And how are you bunch of _humans_ gonna fight a _Mage_ ?” It’s Keris, entering from behind a village house, chewing gum. The villagers turn on her, Garrett waving his torch in her face, which she coolly brushes off. “Oh, _please_. We’re not even threats to you. We’re vegetarians.”

“You’re vegetarians?! That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous if you think you can take the Mage alone.”

“Well, who would help us?” Snow asks.

“Um, us? The _literal_ vampires that live right next door?”

“We would never accept help from you!”

“Ha! I’m not offering, honey. If you want our help, you’re gonna need to beg for it.”

“We would _never_.”

Keris laughs. “See ya when ya get over yourselves!”

______________________________

 

We establish the terms of our truce to New Rules by Dua Lipa. Trixie thought it would be genius. (It _is_ received pretty well.)

The Mage introduces herself to Venus, the Bananarama version. Which is certainly a choice that was made.

Then, our first confrontation with the Mage is set to Don’t Trust Me, by 3OH!3. The whole point is that the vampires and villagers still haven’t learned to trust each other, so we fail.

And, of course, there’s our duet. It’s damn near perfect. (Maybe not as perfect as that run in the rehearsal room, or maybe I’m biased.) (Because he totally held my hand for a bit then.) (Which happened because he’s an absent-minded fool, no other reason.)

The audience goes crazy for it, either way.

_______________________________

 

We arrive at the “castle,” and Snow makes a big thing of getting everyone’s attention, banging his shield around.

“Everyone! Everyone, split up, and find our missing villagers! Each vamp pair with a human.”

“Our main goal,” I say, “is a rescue mission. Both of us have suffered losses from the Mage, but we can take her down in the future.”

“Of course,” Simon says, with a pat on my shoulder, “We’re still gonna try to kill her tonight.” Everyone goes into an uproar, and we storm the castle. The curtains close so the stage hands can set up the Mage’s room, but Snow and I circle around and run in front of the curtain, through what’s presumably a staircase or hallway in the castle.

I grab Snow’s wrist, and stop him. “Hey.”

“What is it?” I have a passing thought that he looks gorgeous.

“Listen. I’ll help you. Of course, I’ll help you. But—” This is the scene, the one we couldn’t get right. We messed with it, and we changed it quite a bit. Of course, not without getting Trixie’s blessing first—

“But?!” —But this scene is all ours now.

“Listen! _You_ have to be the one to kill the Mage. I can’t do it.”

“What? Of course you can— _why_ can’t you? God, I knew we couldn’t trust—”

“We. Don’t. Kill. People. That’s our rule. And, hey, I wouldn’t mind taking out the Mage! You think _I_ don’t know that she’s a bad person? But we have to make that rule uncompromisable. Or your village buddies could turn on us. . .”

Snow grunts, and I grab his shoulders, turning him to face me directly.

“You know who would win. That’s not what we want. We don’t want to fight you, _God,_ we don’t want a massacre! You have to do it.”

“Okay.”

“You _have_ to.”

“Okay!”

“I’ll protect you. I’ll help you. But you. . .”

“I deal the final blow.”

_______________________________

 

Phillippa’s song is met with a booming applause. She sings it in her “lair,” alone besides the two prisoners chained up against her wall, and it’s not just her voice, but her whole performance that’s intense and immediately convincing. She’s radiating this crackling, unstable energy, and coming off as absolutely insane. (Out of all the actors in our school, I respect her the most.)

After she ends her song, chest heaving yet standing still to receive her applause, Snow and I enter stage left, and she turns to us.

_“Hello, children!”_ she half-sings, half-laughs. And this is where the cheesy SING! writing cuts back in.

Snow and I fight her in this dramatic sequence, which is set to the band playing Led Zeppelin, and ends in me being held (by “magic”) to a wall, and Snow crumpled at her feet. It all looks hopeless until a group of villagers and vampires run in and save us, Keris yelling _take that you crazy bitch!_ (which Ebb surprisingly let pass, like the one “fuck” in a PG-13 movie), and Garrett offering an affirming _hell yeah!_

In the end, Snow and I decide to deal the final blow _together_ , and it’s all awfully symbolic. But right when we’re about to stab her with his sword we stop, because we’re the merciful good guys and all, and Snow cuffs her with “magic” handcuffs and orders the others to carry her and the rescued prisoners out back to the village.

Once the stage is empty for everyone except us, the bro-hug scene happens. The _I don’t need your pity_ has no real bite to it, cut off by a weak _hey_ from Simon, and the whole thing falls slightly flat. Like so. We’re met with booming applause, nevertheless.

We ride our highs from what generally was a great performance through the obligatory High School Musical song, _We’re All In This Together_ , and to the very end. And we’re so damn glad. Everything feels so good. We get ice cream after the show, then hurry home so we can have enough rest to repeat it again the next day. And then we do, and it goes just as great. Just really great. I can’t complain.

But sitting in an Applebee’s after with the whole cast, staring at Snow’s dumb face, and hyper-aware of the fact that the last thing he said to me as Simon, not Arthur, was a brief _nice job, dude_ after _last_ night’s show— I just feel melancholy. I feel lonely, and _mad._

_It’s not supposed to be like this! It’s supposed to be all different now. We went costume shopping together. He ate scones in my bed, he looked at me with his soft smile more times than I can count on my hands, we slept practically entangled, he sat pressed up against me in the booth of a crappy diner!_

So shouldn’t things be different? I just feel like I always do after SING! Like I just don’t belong. Like everyone thinks of me as the villain.

But worse, I feel dumb. For having hoped otherwise.


	14. Step 14: Surprise Everyone Including Yourself With a Big Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final performance. Baz is upset, Simon is impulsive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end! ;') I can't believe how long I've held onto this fic, but I'm so glad I decided to come back and finish it. This was the chapter I was writing toward, so enjoy folks!
> 
> TW for suicidal thoughts. If you want to skip it (although it is brief) skip the end of Baz's first chunk after he goes into the woods (the chapter alternates between the two of them a lot btw)  
> Also TW for homophobia (from Baz's dad)-- in fact, if you want to skip that whole section, it's just his dad being an asshole and him resolving to go to the show mostly out of spite

_ Simon _

I wake up Saturday at around 2:00, completely disoriented. It’s like my body doesn’t remember what it’s like to get sleep, to not be so tired, and now it’s confused between being absolutely exhausted and energized.

In a way, I feel worse. Like I have no clue how I’ll be able to get on stage and do it all one more time. But the thought that it’s the morning of my last ever SING! gets me out of bed and downstairs to the cabinet where the cereal is.

When I look at my phone, I see that Trixie’s sent a message:

_ GOOD MORNING FRIENDS!! In case you somehow forgot, tonight is the last SING! performance!!!! C u all at 5 sharp, im positive that we r gonna KICK ASS AND WIN!! Do your weird pre performance rituals, take care of yourselves, stay hydrated, take a bath or something to calm the nerves, and remember i believe in yall!! and will kill you if you r late _

I don’t know how she’s so confident that we’re gonna win, but I am starting to feel an excitement bubbling in my stomach.

‘Cause even if we don’t win (God I hope we win) we’re definitely gonna kick ass. She’s right.

I could go on about how we haven’t messed up in days, how talented our cast is, how gorgeous our sets are, how the band is the perfect volume and how our song selection is more original than it’s ever been in the past— but really it’s the energy that makes a good SING!

And we’ve got it.

I think a big part of it is the change in me and Baz’s chemistry. Penny’s told me that in the past years, there was just a horribly uncomfortable tension every time we were on stage together. She said it made you want to leave. Which isn’t the type of feeling you want to give the audience.

After Thursday’s show, she said that this year it’s insanely different. She said there was a “palpable tension” at the beginning when we were enemies, but that we were “even more convincing allies.” Which sounds like it should be a New York Times book review, but I swear those were her exact words.

And then she made a comment that our song had “ _crazy_ romantic tension,” which set my mind spinning for a moment before I filed it away under Things Not To Think About. (The one where every bullet is him.)

The thing is, just because I have a list doesn’t mean my brain always follows the rule. In fact, recently my brain has  _ really really  _ wanted to think about Baz, practically all the time.

And as much as I try to stop that before I get away from myself, one overwhelming thought has managed to slip through over cereal today: I’m worried. I’m very worried Baz won’t want to have anything to do with me after tonight.

I shove the last few spoonfuls of frosted flakes in my mouth before throwing the bowl in the sink, hearing it clang against the dishes and utensils that are piling up.

I get another text notification from Penny:

_ How are you holding up? Excited or more nervous? I’ll be there again tonight <3 _

I shoot her a quick response—  _ Okay, a bit of both, cu tonight!—  _ then I hop in the shower. I let the steam clear my head, and I try to feel lighter. I hum the SING! songs quietly, I wash my hair, I sing some scales on open vowels, and I try not to imagine all the possible ways tonight could end. I try not to get bogged down by the lines, the words.

I focus on all the good stuff: the people, the energy, the music, the feelings. I think about how much of ourselves we’ve poured into this, how much we all live for it. And  _ that  _ excites me.  
  


_ Baz _

When I wake up, Daphne’s made pancakes for breakfast. Which means I need to eat with my family, when all I want to do right now is wallow. (I haven’t even looked at the disgustingly motivational text Trixie’s probably sent.)

I know I need to pull myself together before the show. But part of me simply doesn’t care. I’m hurt— maybe I’m too emotionally compromised to perform. If we lose, maybe it’s not my fault.

I can just picture how happy it would make them all, to win. And I can’t help but be sickened, I can’t help but feel that it’s all meaningless. SING, meaningless— a revolutionary thought, I know.

So I push around my pancakes in the syrup. It’s always relatively quiet at our dining room table, so of course today I’m being spoken to. 

Daphne tries so hard at times, I admit it’s sweet. It’s more than anyone else ever does. “What are you up to today, Baz? Is it that play of yours?” Right now, it’s too much.

“Yes, it’s tonight.”

“Maybe we should go, honey,” she says to my father, which is a complete joke. I look up and see that his jaw is clenched.

“You know how I feel about those plays.” There. End of discussion.

But she doesn’t seem to understand that, because then she’s opening her mouth again around a forkful of syrup-soaked pancake. “He’s been in them for four years, now, don’t you think we should go this once? Show our support?"

“I do support him. By letting him be in them.”

“It would say more if we were there,” she says softly, and she just isn’t getting it.

“I wish I could go, but I simply can’t force myself. Because what I don’t support, Daphne, is. . . you know,” He gestures with his utensils.

“Do we know?” I say. Because I just want him to say something ugly, and in doing so, to blow up the whole meal. (Which is definitely ungrateful of me.)

“The costumes, and the makeup, and the dancing and singing and all— it disturbs me! I shouldn’t have to see that, my  _ son  _ like that.”

“It’s that you don’t want to see me acting all queer up there, right Malcolm? Like, God forbid— lest the neighbors see!” I can’t help myself— I’m in a snappy mood.

“Basilton!” Daphne gasps. Mordelia grabs my hand under the table and her face twists into an expression of sympathy and confusion.

“Well,  _ yes, _ now that you’ve gone and said it, I think it’s unnatural for a man to want to behave like that— I mean, I’m fine if you think you’re queer, or whatever it is these days, but I’m certainly not happy when that’s the impression you want to give people.”

“Got it,” I say, pushing my last pancake onto Mordelia’s plate and standing to leave.

“—Plus, you haven’t even  _ won  _ this contest before. So should I really show up to see my son humiliate himself  _ twice _ over?”

I ignore him and leave through the kitchen door. There’s an exit on the side of the house that takes me to the woods, where I need to be right now. To collect myself.

Two hours before I need to leave in order to get to the school on time. One of the hours spent walking the trails— well, it starts out just walking. I’m so frustrated that I break out into a run, I tear through the trails and I kick branches and I climb up to my spot. The drop that I like to dangle my legs over, and look at the stream below.

I listen to the water, and take deep breaths. The thought that I should let go crosses my mind, and although it’s not a new one, it still scares me all the same. Because the truth is, I don’t really want to. It would be incredibly selfish, especially right before the last SING, but that’s not why I don’t want to.

Part of it might be that I know that I have a great deal to live for. That one day I’ll get away, and that’s when I’ll  _ really  _ start living. This isn’t it yet. 

It’s a small part of it. Another, slightly bigger part is Simon Snow. He’s surely something to live for, something present— and so alive, too. Puts us all to shame.

But the biggest reason, if I’m being honest, for not inching any closer to the edge of that drop, is spite. I keep repeating his words: “Should I really show up to see my son humiliate himself twice over?” 

This really does create quite a predicament, for me and my pessimism and my self-destructive tendencies. Because there’s no jumping, no blowing off the show just to hurt everyone who’s hurt me. No pitiful wallowing.

No. Now we  _ have _ to win. I will make damn sure of it even if that means staring right into Simon Snow’s horrible, gorgeous face for the whole unbearable ordeal.

I’m a self-sacrificing  _ gift _ to this awful school. A Goddamn hero.

_ Simon _

It’s just after 5, and I’m in a dressing room with Agatha, who’s doing my makeup. Yes, I’m wearing makeup. Agatha gives me navy blue eyeliner that makes my eyes pop, and she gives me foundation and the slightest contour so that, when we’re all overheated on stage and my face wants to be bright red, I’ll still look okay in all the pictures. Not just okay— “chiseled,” as she says.

This has always been a tradition of ours, and I’m glad it’s still just as sacred even after our breakup. I’m glad we’re okay.

“So. What do you think?”

“Maybe a little more gel in my hair— and I was thinking, could we try some mascara?”

“Sure! You’re eyelashes are already long, so you’ll look crazy good— Here, I’ll use brown so that it’s subtle, too.”

“Thanks, Ags.” She turns me from the mirror and settles in front of me again with the mascara wand.

“Just look up slightly,” she says, so I do. The mascara slightly tickles, but I don’t mind it. “So, Si?”

“Yeah?”

“About you and Baz.” I inhale sharply. “Yeah,” she laughs. “You guys are. . . you’re really getting along now, huh?”

“Yeah, we are. It’s— it was weird, but now it's just nice. You know?”

“I’m honestly happy for you. It was always so silly that you two were fighting like children— I mean, really, ridiculous! We were all frankly tired of you two. But now—”

“We’re not fighting anymore. Crazy, right?” She’s moved on to my other eye.

“I think it’s more than that. I  _ know _ you, Simon. I just wanted to tell you that— I’ve been thinking about what you told me, that day at the cafe when we started talking again.

“You were telling all those rehearsal stories that involved him, and then you said you really hoped he likes being friends as much as you do. And hanging out with you both these past weeks— he looks at you exactly the same way you look at him, Si."

“What do you mean?” She’s finished with my eyelashes now, and is moving onto my hair.

“You used to look at me like that sometimes,” she says, so casually. She must see the panic in my face, because she grabs my hands, and says in a hush: “It’s okay, Simon. You’re fine. Hey—”

I look up at her, and she’s giving me that signature gentle, reassuring smile of hers. 

“You can tell him. I’m  _ pretty _ sure he feels the same. You’re all right, yeah?”

I nod, and she says  _ yeah?  _ again, and I say  _ yeah  _ back, and really believe it. 

She messes up my hair a bit. “Go break a leg! And be on stage in five for the mic check.”

_ Baz _

I run into Simon on the way to the mic check. He looks incredible— his eyelashes are longer than usual. I know I’m supposed to be hurt, and that we haven’t spoken in days. And yet, the first words out of my mouth are still:

“Is that mascara?”

He barely manages an “uh” before Trixie’s shrill voice is calling to us, saying that we are  _ VERY LATE.  _ And should report to the stage immediately.

Soon, the final show begins. I try hard not to let my anger creep its way into my performance. And it’s frustrating that, each time I look over at Snow, all I want to do is kiss him. 

_ Simon _

Baz’s performance is just slightly off tonight. He’s giving off all kinds of conflicting emotions— they’re just under his skin, but I can tell. One moment, he’s incredibly angry. But then I look at him, and he’s just sad.

At times, that makes his performance completely chilling. He’s a type of angry I don’t know how to put into words, but I’m almost in awe by— I hope the audience is.

But then, I see slight cracks, and I’m just worried. Like, in the scene where he says he hates me completely, hates all of us, hates even the other vampires. That he just wants to be left alone.

I want to pull him backstage, and ask him what’s wrong, what I did, what I can do. But I can’t.

And then there’s our duet, and the look he sends me  _ screams _ lovesick. And I know it’s all in the implication. Of the song. I know that Baz is a fantastic actor— but I have to look away.

It’s my last performance of SING! ever, and it’s going great. Trixie will be so thrilled. Our energy is high, our performances are just slightly  _ more  _ than usual, on the good edge behind being too much.

But I’m distracted by every glimpse I get of Baz’s sadness. It’s definitely a kind of sadness.

If I let myself think about it too much, I know it’ll kill the play. I know Trixie will kill me. So I make a list of things not to think about until the final bow, just not until then, and every single one is the look on his face.

_ Baz _

We’ve done it. The Mage is hauled off in handcuffs. The stage is empty, except for Simon and I.

We stall. Both of us are trying to say something, we just don’t know what. 

I turn slightly away from him, and stand up straight. I stare into space, and let the resolve harden in my eyes, only thinking that this is the end.

I was a fool for thinking that this year would be any different. I’m aching with the truth of what I’m about to say. Aching, knowing that he doesn’t care, that I’ll only ever get this moment in bad, student-written fiction.

“So,” I say, my mouth hardening into a grin I hope looks uncaring enough as I turn back to him. “That’s all. We can finally stop pretending to be friends.”

“That’s not—” There’s confusion in his eyes.

_ Simon _

“I don’t need your  _ pity, _ ” he hisses, turning away again. But I see the shattered look on his face.

I want him to stop. I can tell that he’s not just talking about the play. He’s directing his words to me _.  _ To  _ me _ , and I can’t stand that he doesn’t know. How much I— I just. I can’t put it into words. I just need to let him know, somehow.

“ _ Hey, _ ” I say, grabbing his hand. Hoping that he hears me.

_ Baz _

“ _ Hey.”  _ He wrenches me back to him, then grabs my other hand in his. This isn’t at all how we practiced. I’m looking down, but I can feel his plain blue eyes insistently searching, searching my face, as if it’ll somehow tell him all that’s wrong.

I make eye contact with him, but only for a brief second do I see how wrecked I’ve made him.

Because then, he grabs my face in both his hands. And he kisses me.

Holy  _ fuck _ , Simon Snow is  _ kissing  _ me. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of smoke, by his chin pressing forward, and it’s so good. Better than I’ve dared to imagine.

I kiss him back. 

_ Simon _

I’d just wanted him to stop. Even though he wasn’t saying much. Even though he surely wasn’t going to say anything else, since those were his last lines.

But it was like I could hear him thinking, and I wanted that to stop too. Needed him to know.

Which is how I ended up here, kissing Baz on stage. It isn’t quite like how I imagined doing this. (Yes, I imagined this.) But here were are, my hands cupping his face, his shooting up to grab my collar, to touch my hair.

We stumble back, and break the kiss smiling. I’m vaguely aware that we’re being applauded as I let myself look into his wide, grey eyes for just one moment. I duck my head into his chest, blushing red.

I’m vaguely aware that I’m still on stage, that I’m dancing, that I’m singing and I’m cheering with the entire cast. I’m taking my final bow. It all sweeps me away, and by the end of it my face hurts from all the smiling.

We win. 

It’s incredible, overwhelming. It’s everything. Baz shoots me a grin, his cheeks red. I really hope that I’ll get to kiss him on his cheek. Right now, it’s one of the first things on my mind, next to  _ hold him  _ and  _ his hair, his eyes  _ and I don’t really have the desire to make a list about it.

But, before I can do any of those things, Penny finds me, pulls me into a crushing hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she says. Then Trixie and Keris take me by surprise, Keris yelling “you were brilliant!” as Trixie squeezes me and sobs into my shirt. I think, tears of joy. Rhys claps my shoulder, then Gareth shakes me so hard I feel dizzy. 

And Ebb gives me the best hug of all.

It’s everything, everything I wanted, and it’s not until I’m in the passenger seat of Penny’s car, on the way to the party, that the panic starts to set in.

_ I kissed Baz Pitch,  _ I think.  _ He kissed me back.  _

Then, and this is what kills me—  _ He’s an incredibly good actor. _

I need to talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to leave you with a note of angst haha. But I threw you a pretty big bone there too, so I figure it balances out. I'll try to post the final chapter next saturday, but I'll be honest here and say I have my recital and two more APs in the next week so we'll see, I promise I won't hold onto it for too long though. Thank you all for reading and supporting!


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